#several hours straight of searching for them. them popping up out of nowhere. clicking on them asap bc i didnt know if theyd vanish or not

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

i think WH's last Big Update has permanently rewired something in my head because the mental jolt my brain gets whenever i see a small bug jpeg is, quite frankly, ridiculous

[thetaoofzoe]

Fic: Ethan Hunt Must Die 1/1

Pairing: August Walker x YOU

Word Count: 10,420

Summary: You are a medic and a member of what’s left of  The Apostles. And it’s not rumour anymore. August Walker is definitely not dead. All you want to do is help him with his cause, kill those responsible for his grave injuries (and foiling his manifesto) and make Ethan Hunt pay. Falling in love with August Walker is just a given ;)

Rating: Mature to Explicit some Violence, sex and fluff and yearning and impetuous kisses, explosions and delicious August Walker.  And, this story is not as serious as it may appear, so have fun reading.

Note: If you have been around you’ve seen the original iteration of this story, but maybe not in its entirety. It was originally broken up into 10 parts as A Month of August Walker Challenge. Now, in all of its revamped glory is the complete story all in one place.  

Want to read more? Click for my Masterlist

Your contact was a pleasant woman. She’d collected you from the tiny airport in Kashmir and on the way to your destination, she’d offered to buy snack food for you from a nearby shop.

‘The cabin is fully stocked,’ she reasoned pointing to the squat building by the side of the road, ‘but in case you want a Coke or something.’

You did want a Coke in fact and you took her up on the offer. Along with a few cans of cola you grabbed other items – chocolate bars, fishing tackle, and feminine hygiene products. You didn’t know how long you were going to be out there in the middle of nowhere, and you didn’t want to use up the precious bog roll when your cycle eventually came.

The woman was leaning against the side of the battered truck and smoking a cigarette when you stepped out of the shop. Eyeing your purchases, she nodded with approval.

‘Good idea,’ she said, making a vague gesture towards you with her cigarette. ‘We didn’t think about a woman’s needs during such a long excursion. Next time. There are all sorts of painkillers in the stocks though… just so you are aware.’

She put a gloved hand on her lower belly and laughed a little.

‘I know how it can get.’

You smiled, grateful to be sharing this moment with her, woman to woman, and thanked her before getting back into the truck.

‘Is there gonna be a next time?’ you asked, sweeping the seatbelt across your chest and clicking it into place.

She didn’t look at you as she started the truck and set off down the road.

‘I hope this is the last, ‘ she said finally and as it seemed like such a struggle for her to come up with an answer that she seemed satisfied with, you didn’t continue to press the matter.

Settling into the seat, you unwrapped a chocolate bar, and with three large bites, had it stuffed into your mouth. The salty chocolate and nougat were glorious and you moulded the sweet wad into the roof of your mouth so that you could savour it with slow licks.  You folded the plastic-coated wrapper into a small square and tucked it in your jacket pocket.

The woman drove along the rough frosty mountain roads as if you two were being chased. She didn’t seem at all phased with how the truck bounced and jumped dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, as if one wrong turn of the wheel wouldn’t send the two of you plunging down into the river below.

That imagery triggered sudden rage in you.

Goddamn you, Ethan Hunt, you thought.

You wanted just two minutes alone with Hunt to make him regret having ever laid eyes on August Walker. Hunt deserved nothing but a long slow torturous death.

Ever since the incident, The Apostles had been split on what to do regarding  August Walker. Should he be left out there and forgotten? Or should his remains be recovered and given a proper burial?

The thought that there was nothing left to recover prevailed until reports that August had survived the fall started trickling in. With this new knowledge, it was impossible to prevent the uprising that voted to scour the mountains to find him. This time, your only mission was to man the cabin in the event one of the search teams found him.

‘Not far to the cabin. Ayami is apart of the search team. You know her, yes?’ asked the woman.

‘Yes. I know her.’

‘Good, Ayami planned all of this, coordinated us, and was able to pinpoint a location not far from this cabin.’

Not enough planning for a menstrual cycle, you thought, petulantly.

‘It will work out,’ she continued and nodded. ‘He will be found.’

‘This is the third time someone has,’ you made inverted commas in the air with your fingers, ‘pinpointed his location, only to run into IMF lies. We are wasting precious time. August is alive and we need to find him.’

The woman drove on in silence for a moment.

‘I agree with you, yes. I agree. But what do you suggest that we do? If not this.’

You relented and sighed. You had no idea what to do other than this.

‘If I could snap my fingers…’

You clicked your fingers and she chuckled, clicking hers as well.

‘He would be safe with us,’ she finished for you.

A half hour later, she slowed and finally stopped the truck and pointed through the windscreen at what looked like a stack of fallen trees.

‘Unfortunately, my friend,’ she said. ‘There is a way to drive up to the cabin. However, it is many, many kilometres that way and petrol for me is hard to come by right. It’s easier to drop you here and you take the trail. It’s only a few hours hike.’

You grabbed your rucksack from the foot well, reached over and one-arm hugged the woman and then got out. She did a wide circle turn around and pulled the truck up to where you stood.

‘Good luck, my friend. And take care.’

‘Take care,’ you said. ‘See you soon.’

She gave you a two-fingered salute and drove away.

**

It was cold that far up in the mountains and the beginning of the trail looked desolate. Securing your rucksack on your back, you began your long trek, and the cabin was a welcome sight after hours of navigating the rocky hard terrain.  Inside was small and utilitarian, but it was more than enough for you. You didn’t bother to take off your boots before falling onto the cot and into a deep exhausted sleep.

In the morning, you took stock of your surroundings. The cabin was pretty well-appointed with a wood stove, a table with two chairs, an amazingly comfortable cot and stacks and stacks of supplies. The gold-painted metal ammo closet in the back was comforting to see and you were going to familarise yourself with its contents later. But first, breakfast.

You got up to make coffee and noticed a medium-sized cardboard box sitting on the small dining table by the stove. There was a note.

‘Your name was given to me at the last moment. Here are some things you may need.’

And it was signed, ‘Ayami’.

You slit open the box with your pocket knife and laughed when you saw the contents. Ayami had packaged not only tampons and pads but several different styles of menstrual cups for you and you felt guilty for earlier, being such a brat about the supplies you needed.

‘You planned everything, Ayami,’ you said aloud to the empty room. ‘Thank you.’

You lit the fire in the stove and put a pot on to boil some water. A noise outside pricked your ears. It sounded like the heavy motor of an ATV and out of the noise you picked out the sounds of other engines drawing closer.

Shit! you thought, rushing to the ammo closet at the back of the cabin.

Flinging open the doors, you dragged out a single barrel shotgun, loaded it, and scrambled back to the front cabin door. Peering out through the narrow window you watched as several four-wheelers and one battered Land Rover raced towards the cabin. In a cloud of kicked up dirt and dust, the Rover drove straight up to the door and to your absolute surprise, the passenger door popped open and Ayami jumped out.

You opened the cabin door and came out.

‘Good!’ she shouted over the noise of the engines. ‘You’re here. Get the first aid boxes ready, now!’

You were a medic and understood the urgency in her tone. You ran back to the cabin and were piling bandages, antiseptics, and other items on the table when three men carried in a limp body between them. Ayami strode across the room and captured you in a hug.

‘I am happy to see you,’ she gasped breathlessly and grabbed your hands. ‘We found him!’

With heart crashing against your ribs, you looked to the man being stretched on the cot as Ayami continued.

Oh God… they found him.

‘Somehow some wanderers discovered him months ago and took him in.’

She trailed off and shook her head. She still seemed to be in shock.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ you told her and squeezed her hands. ‘We’re looking after him now. Radio in for helicopter transport. It may take a few days to get someone out here.’

You cleaned your hands and went to assess the situation. August was alive and badly burned, but gladly not beyond your repair. Ayami came back into the cabin after making the call and joined you at the bed.

‘You planned all of this, Ayami,’ you said. ‘You made this happen. What’re our next step?’

Ayami put her hand on your shoulder and smiled viciously.

‘To make Ethan Hunt pay.’

**

You were wrong.

It didn’t take a few days for the helicopter to arrive. It took two weeks. Although the cabin was well stocked and had nearly everything you needed to tend to August’s wounds, it wasn’t enough.

Ayami wanted to leave and take August the long way through the mountains. They had the power to transport him over land and it was fucking stupid to leave him at the cabin to succumb to something that could be fixed. His body was fighting a raging infection and frankly, he was losing. You explained to her your reasons for why it would be tough on August to try to drive with him through such hard terrain.  He was in a fragile state and jostling him all around in an unstable car could exacerbate any internal injuries. A chopper ride would be better.

Ayami understood that, however…

‘We’ve got plenty of antibiotics,’ she said reasonably. ‘Why can’t we give him some?’

‘Because we don’t know what he has. He could have a bacterial or viral infection and just picking something to give him might do more harm than good. I don’t want to take that risk.’

It wasn’t as if you didn’t want to pump him full of all of the pills you had, just to scattershot the infection, but incorrectly dosing him, in his weakened state,   might kill him. August Walker was alive and you were going to keep him that way.

So you did your best. With Ayami’s help, you kept him clean and dry and in order to manage his temperature, iced. August, however, foiled your attempts to tend to him effectively. He was delirious and unaware of  what was happening to him. More than once you had to extract yourself from his vice-like grip as he held onto you and growled guttural threats of violence to your person. All you could do was try to soothe him and mop his brow and use the aspirin to dull his obvious pain.

**

During the wait for air transport, you stayed up some nights with August. Sometimes you just sat at his bedside and read by the light of your headlamp. Sometimes you just watched him, held his hand and stroked his hair when nightmares haunted his sleep.

He would heal pretty well, you observed, and, without too much lasting damage to his face. He was fortunate that the hot oil missed his eye, although it ruined his ear. But you knew that too could be reconstructed.

‘We’re gonna get you back on your feet, August,’ you murmured on those nights when he was at his most fitful. ‘And we’re gonna get those people who did this to you.’

Even though you weren’t sure he could even hear you speaking, you continued to encourage and comfort him.  It was the least you could do.

**

‘You met John Lark before?’ Ayami asked over breakfast one morning, using August’s real name for the first time.

‘When he was going by John Lark?’ you asked for clarification and she nodded. ‘No. Not then. He had already assumed the new identity and was in the CIA when I turned up.’

‘He was not always like this,’ she said a bit cryptically.

‘How was he?’

Interest sparked in you.

She shook her head.

‘Just different. Maybe he’ll tell you someday.’

Ayami smiled at you and you turned, alerted by the soft groan coming from the bed.

‘Oh God, he’s waking up again,’ she chuckled and then asked you, ‘Top or bottom.’

You laughed inspite of yourself and gave the choice a moment’s thought. ‘Top’ meant that you got to administer medication, clean up his face and check his bandages, while ‘bottom’ meant that you would have to wrestle with his strong flailing arms and risk getting punched in the face. Ayami looked at you expectantly and you grimaced.

‘I had top last time, so…’

She smiled and got up, patting your arm in passing. ‘Then you get top this time.’

‘Ayami, c’mon,’ you protested rising from the chair. ‘I don’t want to be unfair.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ she said lifting her arms and flexing her biceps. ‘But, I need my workout.’

**

Ayami needed to stay in Kashmir to tie up some loose ends. So, you said your farewells and parted company when the chopper transport finally arrived.

You, on the other hand, were headed to New Delhi where another contact would meet and relieve you of your August-sitting duties.

Exhausted and battered, it was just after midnight when you finally arrived at the airport.  Out through the cloudy bubble heli-window, you saw the second contact rush to the settling helicopter. You unlatched an dragged open the side door.

‘Hello!’ he shouted over the roar of the blades overhead. ‘It’s Janus. You can come with me!’

‘Where am I going?’ you shouted back, not moving from where you were sitting next to August’s prone body.

He was still blissfully unconscious and sleeping quietly.

‘There is a safehouse here. You can rest. We will transport Walker to the small plane over there and continue on to London.’

You shook your head and were able to speak normally when the blades finally shuddered to a stop.

‘I’ll go on,’ you told Janus. ‘I’ll go on, it’s ok. I’ll stay with him.’

Janus looked puzzled.

‘No, you are to go to the safe house. I am to continue on.’

You had come this far. You weren’t going to leave August, so you again declined the offer of a trade.

‘Now. Come on. I’m not going to quibble with you,’ you said, kicking open the other door so that the two men accompanying Janus could wrangle the stretcher out of the chopper.

You watched them carry August off and jumping out of the heli, you turned to Janus.

‘Be well, my friend. But I’ve got it.’

Janus shrugged a little and nodded, seeing that you weren’t going to be swayed.

‘Is it really him?’ he asked and you could hear relief seeping into his voice.

You put your arms around him in a farewell hug.

‘It is,’ you said. ‘You have Ayami to thank for that. Make sure that you do.’

You ran after the two men carrying the stretcher. The men secured the stretcher inside and turned to help you into the back of the plane. You pulled closed the small plane’s door and made sure that August was securely strapped in. It was going to be another long ride to the final safe house.

**

It was raining in London, and as the small plane approached, the cool precipitation rinsed away grey foggy clouds to reveal the golden city. Through your headset, you listened to the pilot talk to air traffic control and learned that you were headed to Blackbushe Airport.

‘How far is the safe house from the airport?’ you asked the pilot.

‘Not far. Maybe 20 kilometers. Not far.’  

You were so ready to put your feet on land that you closed your eyes and envisioned a soft bed, a hot meal, and an even hotter bath. Glancing down at the still sleeping man on the stretcher at your feet, you felt a rise of tender feelings in your heart. Not only had your team recovered August Walker, alive, but you had a personal hand in his convalescence.  Reaching down, you touched his face. He felt hot, but not as feverish as before and you were relieved. Elevated fevers for sustained periods of time were dangerous and although he wasn’t out of the woods yet, he was better. You brushed a curl of brown hair off of his forehead and smoothed the edge of your thumb across his eyebrow. Yes, he was going to heal well and regain his strength to be able to fight another day.

Blackbushe Airport was small but efficient and there was a black, solid paneled van waiting for you. You helped the men with the stretcher and once August had been secured, you pulled yourself into the offered front passenger seat.  The driver nodded to acknowledge your presence and you put on your seatbelt as the van drove off.

Someone tapping on the window jarred you from the nap you didn’t realise you had fallen into. With a wet grunt, you sat up, reflexively swiped the back of your hand across your mouth, and dried the drool which had pooled in the corner. Hand still to your mouth, you shifted to look through the window. It was the driver and he made a gesture for you to get out.

You nodded to show that you understood and he moved off. Behind you in the cargo part of the van, you could hear men talking and then sounds of strain when they lifted the stretcher. Even unconscious, August wasn’t for the weak or fainthearted. You chuckled at your own analogy, unclipped the seatbelt and opened the door. Your legs wobbled when your feet hit the ground and you pressed back against the closed door until you felt that you could walk without collapsing. It took a while for your legs to finally firm and when they did you followed the men into the medium sized country manor house.

Inside smelt of cedar and pine. Your footsteps echoed on the hardwood floor as you walked into the charming front room and looked up at all of the old portraits and paintings and decorative weapons. Twin staircases, one on each side of the front room,  dog-legged up to the next level.  You approached a tall round table with a large vase of fresh flowers and walked around it. You peeked into dark rooms and soon found yourself in an equally as charming country kitchen. There was a man in there wearing a black jumper and blue jeans, drinking from a white mug.

‘Ah!’ he said when he saw you. ‘Come in, come in. Coffee?’

Aware that you looked particularly filthy and bedraggled, compared to his crispness, you cleaned your hands on your cargo trousers and stepped into the room.

‘Yes, please.’

The man obliged, saying, ‘It’s only instant, I’m afraid.’

Instant was fine and you didn’t protest when he handed you a cup.

‘And it’s terrible,’ he added with a laugh. ‘I’ve only just arrived and haven’t had a chance to flush out all of the pipes. Everything happened so fast.’

You nodded and drank the metallic tasting coffee without complaint.

‘Ayami, then. Right?’

You knew what he was asking. Ayami was the conductor of this orchestra and she deserved all of the credit.

‘Yes.’

‘Fuck… she’s a legend.’

Finishing the cup without much tasting it, you handed it back to him.

‘I’d like to clean up and make sure that he’s… that August is ok for the night.’

He took the cup and was nodding as he put both yours and his into the sink.

‘Sure, sure. I can do that. There is a room ready for the both of you. Come on, I’ll show you.’

You followed him up the stairs and down a quiet, thickly carpeted hallway which was also lined with gaily painted portraits. Upon reaching the room at the end, he stepped aside to let you go in first.

There was a trio of men in there, that you recognised as the medical team and the room had been set up like a well-stocked hospital room. The lemon yellow wallpaper with its sunflower print was a pleasant contrast to the medical equipment and other paraphernalia. The men greeted you and they all shared a happy look. You knew why and yes, you shared it too. You said nothing as you watched them undress and bathe August, glad that he could finally receive more focused treatment.

‘And my room?’ you asked.

August didn’t need you now and you had to look after yourself. Mr instant coffee led you back down the hall and showed you your bedroom and amenities. When he left you, you threw your rucksack on the floor by the bed, stripped out of your filthy clothes, and immediately ran a bath. When you finally emerged, refreshed, and clean down to your toes, you found a sandwich and cola waiting on the table next to the bed. You devoured it in a few bites but drank the cola slowly as you unpacked your rucksack. All the way at the bottom,  and rolled around a pair of thick socks was a clean shirt and sweatpants which you quickly pulled on. You sat on the edge of the bed and finished the cola.

Flopping onto your side and closing your eyes, you intended to rest for only a moment. However, sleep had other ideas.

**

Sunlight streamed in through the windows behind you and you woke suddenly then rolled over. On the wall at the head of the bed, a pleasant-looking woman smiled down at you from a pastoral painting and you were groggy enough to smile back. Rubbing your face you sat up, yawned, and swung your legs over the edge of the bed, staying there a moment to contemplate the night before. You hadn’t slept that well in a very long time and you were grateful to have finally got some rest. That old bed was a godsend.

After washing and dressing in clean clothes, you stood in the corridor outside your room door and looked down the hallway to where August slept.  His door was closed. The scent of coffee wafting up the stairs alerted you that someone else was awake and you wondered if it was Mr Instant coffee down there still flushing out the pipes and drinking metallic tasting coffee. You decided to leave him to it and you walked to August’s room.

You tapped on the door but there was no answer, so you turned the doorknob and let yourself in.  August was still asleep. The IV drip bag was half empty and the bandages on his face were bright and clean. He looked much better in the warm morning light and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. You smoothed down the patch of  IV tape on the back of his hand and August startled a yelp out of you when he moved.

His eyes were open and you found yourself under the clear scrutiny of the infamous August Walker. Before your inglorious meeting at the cabin, you had never been this close to him. The two of you never spoke nor had you even been in the same room.

His eyes moved all over your face as if hunting for something and you stood still letting him complete his inspection. When recognition finally bloomed in his eyes, he relaxed.

You ventured to put your hand over his.

‘Do you remember me?’ you asked.

‘I remember,’ he answered, voice raspy from disuse.

August fell silent and it seemed to take effort for him to speak.

‘I… remember you read to me.’

Your heart skipped with elation.

‘Yes.’

Breathing out a breath, August closed his eyes.

‘Thank you.’

‘We’ll make him pay, August,’ you said when he was quiet. ‘All of them.’

It didn’t matter that he had succumbed to sleep again and probably didn’t hear you. Ethan Hunt was going to pay.

**

It was fortunate Mr. Instant Coffee, as you dubbed him, was around to cook and clean because you weren’t about to look after Walker and do the domestic duties as well.

As the weeks drifted by and August grew stronger, you turned your interest away from him and to revenge.

Retribution, you liked to say to yourself. It was a much better word and to pull it off, you needed a team.

Ayami, of course, was on board. She was always up for some violence and you loved her for it. She knew exactly who you needed and how to contact them. And, if you were going to go through with it, all the way, you needed a solid plan. Every piece had to be in place for the whole machine to move forward. No stone could remain unturned.

You spent a lot of time in that country kitchen with plans and schematics and blueprints spread out in front of you on the table. The first order of business was to find the persons responsible; Benji, Ilsa, Luther and Hunt.

Find them, and observe.

‘That’s it,’ you’d told Ayami. ‘Find them and observe. Record their patterns, their travel, their habits, their pubs, markets, clothing stores, everything.’

You made sure to have rotating team members on each target so that said target would not recognise any reoccurring faces and become suspicious. IMF was a clever, skittish bunch and the way to lure them into the trap was to be patient and deliberate.

Early one morning, about three months into your stay at the safe house, a heavy thumping down the stairs distracted you from your research.

You got up, refilled your coffee and then poured a second fresh cup. Returning to the table you put the second cup in the space across from where you had been sitting. For two weeks now, August had been testing his newly found strength and had insisted on getting up and moving around own his own. He’d recently been cut out of his arm cast and was able to navigate his way on crutches. And on mornings after breakfast when he could get himself out of bed, he usually banged down the stairs and hobbled into the kitchen.

After a few days of this, you started preparing a cup of coffee for him. Whether he was looking for coffee or not, you always put out a second cup when you heard him coming down. And August was actually polite and thankful for the gesture. It surprised you. You expected him to be this gruff and grumpy take charge team leader who didn’t have time for underlings. When, in fact, August Walker was a very pleasant man.

‘Morning,’ you heard him say from the kitchen’s doorway.

‘Morning,’ you replied, nodding to the coffee cup.

He took up his regular place across from you, and leaned the crutches against the bench seat.

You looked at him finally. The bandages were all off of his face now (except for the one remaining to protect his damaged ear) and the swelling had gone down.

What was at first considered full-thickness burns were actually only partial-thickness and he could heal without skin grafts.

He looked, you decided, pretty normal. Handsome, in fact and you wanted to reach out to touch him.

He saw you examining him and he made an aborted attempt to touch his face.

‘No, it ahh… it’s good. You look much better. Really,’ you said quickly.

He picked up the coffee and drank slowly.

‘Does it still hurt?’

‘No,’ he said into the cup and changed the subject. ‘What have we got?’

Right back to business, you thought. Of course. None of this ‘feelings’ stuff for him.

‘The only one we got consistent eyes on is Luther. I guess they’re not using him these days, so he’s staying put. He’s in the States and looks to have a vacation home in Florida. If he has a third place, we don’t know about it yet.’

August listened and nodded and you swore you could see a little smile starting to play across his mouth. Not wanting it to disappear, you showed him photos of Ilsa.

‘I think, she thinks she’s clever. At first she was darting around, doing the whole ‘spy’ thing. It was cute. Now, not so much. I’d like to take her… if you agree.’

August looked up at you and that little smile was still there. In fact he looked particularly pleased with you.

‘Don’t worry. Hunt’s for last. We’re saving him for you.’

August held your gaze and you felt a thrill race through you.

‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘I want you to do whatever you want to do. I trust you.’

You brightened considerably and resisted the urge to clap your hands with delight. Having August Walker’s trust had made the day golden.

**

A few days later, the thumping down the stairs distracted you from your work. Smiling a little, you got up and poured a fresh cup of coffee and sat it on the table across from you. Then as an afterthought, you got up again and plated a few chocolate Hobnobs that Mr. Instant Coffee had bought with the weekly grocery. You had barely put the plate down before August appeared in the kitchen doorway.

Seeing the mid-morning snacks waiting for him, he smiled a little and now down to one crutch from two, he hobbled into the kitchen and sat down in his usual spot across from you.

‘Look at you, speedster,’ you teased.

August’s brows rose with pleasure, but he smothered his growing smile by lifting his cup and drinking the coffee.

‘I prefer your coffee to the other one,’ said August, raising his eyes to meet yours.

You hesitated to meet his gaze, and when you did, the praise in his face melted you.

August quickly looked away and down at the plans on the table between the two of you.

‘So, tell me.’

He gestured with the cup to the papers.

You grinned, feeling pleased with your progress.

‘Ilsa. I finally got a bead on her. And I will be travelling to her location today.’

‘Today?’ he asked, sounding surprised and your brows drew together a little.

‘Too soon? I mean.. do you want to come?’

August shook his head and suddenly looked concerned.

‘I don’t want you rushing into something.’

Ah, was that it?

You reached out to tap the back of his hand with your index finger.

‘Whilst I thoroughly enjoy your concern, there’s no need for it. Do you umm, want a trophy? An eyeball? A finger?’

August was clearly surprised, and your offer startled a laugh out of him.

‘No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘No, I don’t want any of that. But ah… I appreciate your vigour.’

You smiled at him.

‘You sure?’

He laughed a little, again, and asked, ‘And your flight?’

‘Coupla hours,’ you replied checking your wristwatch.

‘And your plan?’

‘Delicious,’ you promised.

And it was.

**

Los Angeles was hot and sweltering and you were not prepared for the weather. But you didn’t let that deter you, for you had a mission to accomplish.

You found the target sitting at a table beneath a colourful umbrella at a crowded outdoor cafe.

Carrying several bags emblazoned with names of high-end shops you stopped by her table, made a show of looking into the cafe and then down at the chair across from her.

She looked up at you and you tried a smile.

‘Hi, I am sooo sorry, but do you mind if I just sit here. I am dying in this heat!’

As you were actually dying in the western heat, you knew that you came across sincerely. She took a moment to consider you. Judging you harmless, she nodded to the chair and you collapsed onto it gratefully.

‘Oh, thank you, honey. That’s so good of you. I thought I was going to get all of my shopping over and done with before noon, but you know how it is. Just one more shop, one more try on…. maybe they got those shoes in the back in your size, right? Am I right?

You giggled easily and she nodded, then glanced into the cafe.

‘I gotta wear these gloves to that my hands don’t tan,’ you said watching her. ‘There’s nothing worse than having your arms one colour and your hands 5 shades darker.’

Ignoring you, she raised her hand hoping to alert the waiter standing inside.

He eased up to the table.

‘Yes ma’am.’

‘I ordered my…’

‘Yes, I know ma’am. We are working on it right now, please give us some time. The broiler is currently holding on by a thread. May I offer you a cold drink? On the house?’

You looked at her and she sighed.

‘Sure, go on. You want one?’

Her attention was on you.

You shrugged.

‘Sure! I’ll have what she’s having.’

The two of you chatted amiably for a little while and the waiter returned with your drinks. You immediately sipped at the fizzy fruit drink and put your glass down next to hers.

Several minutes later someone inside shouted, ‘Janie Fellows?’

The woman across from you stirred and then stood up.

‘Finally,’ she said and went inside to pick up her order.

You watched her go and quickly, unobtrusively, dumped the contents of your travel perfume bottle into her glass.

Ilsa returned with a plate brimming with meat and salad and set it on her placemat.

‘Looks good,’ you said admiring the dish. ‘I might get one, but I do need to get on, I think.’

‘You can stay as long as you like,’ she assured you and began her meal.

You sat and chatted whilst she ate and finished her drink.

You were in the middle of a long drawn out story about your imaginary husband when she stopped devouring the rare steak.

Ilsa dropped her fork and you turned towards her.

‘Something wrong?’ you asked, faux concern in your voice as you let your natural accent slip. ‘You’ve gone quite pale… Janie.’

Ilsa’s wide eyes shot up to your face and she spat out her chewed mouthful.

‘I probably overdosed you,’ you said quietly. ‘I mean, you were ten pounds heavier the last time I checked. But you and your hot yoga classes have done wonders. I might take it up myself.’

Eyes bulging as the poison squeezed closed her throat, Ilsa gurgled and staggered upright. The chair screeched on the concrete, fell away and you got up.

‘August Walker says, hello,’ you snarled at her. Then changing your attitude to something more helpless you shouted, ‘Oh My God! I think she’s having a seizure, help, help!’

A crowd began to form allowing you to slip away, but not before giving the thumbs up to Mr. Instant Coffee who had posed as your waiter who had perfectly distracted the mark enough for you to poison her drink.

**

‘Went well, I take it?’ August asked when you bustled into the kitchen the next morning.

There was coffee waiting for you at your usual spot.

You threw your arms round his neck and gave him a hearty kiss in greeting.

‘Better than you could ever imagine!’ you crowed and left him in stunned silence.

**

Distracted by the noise coming from the upper floor, you looked up from the laptop. The thumping down the stairs had been sounding a little less clumsy lately, now that August had finally regained control over his healing limbs. You were glad for it, because it meant that the infamous August Walker was out of the woods and on the mend.

You got up, poured a fresh cup of coffee, and was just setting it down when August came into the kitchen.

‘Morning!’ you called brightly, like the little homemaker you fancied yourself to be.

Well, you fancied yourself to be the kind of homemaker who didn’t keep house, but made coffee and assassination plans. You turned the cup so that the handle faced August when he straddled the bench and sat down across from you.

‘Thank you,’ he said picking up the cup and drinking deeply.

Smiling fondly, you considered him a moment and looked at the fresh bandage on his ear.

‘It’s ear day soon, isn’t it?’

Ear day, as you called it, was literally when August got his new outer ear to replace the one that had been damaged.  Contacts in one of the world’s leading biotech labs had been cultivating new skin and cartilage from his own cells and were ready for transplantation.  August had been putting off the surgery, ever since the fire of killing off the IMF team had been lit. He wanted a clear conscience before proceeding with any additional cosmetic surgery.

August lifted his gaze, but not directly to you. He looked at a spot on the table which was still littered with papers and blueprints and your laptops and a muscle bunched in his jaw, alerting you that he was uncomfortable with this line of discussion. You were never one to back down from a subject you wanted to pursue, so you pressed him gently.

‘I think… well, I think it’s gonna be fine. The surgery will be fine. You’ll have a brand spanking new appendage and everything’s gonna be fine.’

You watched his eyes sweep the length of the table, in an obvious attempt to avoid looking at you.

‘You suffered no hearing loss, on that side, the skin is mending itself nicely and the doctors even said that there was no follicle damage. Those curls will be coming back in no time.’

He scoffed.

‘I don’t care about that.’

‘Yes you do,’ you said with a tiny grin. ‘Yes you do, you care. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t look like this.’

You waved an appraising hand in his direction.

‘August Walker, meet August Walker. He cares about his looks.’

‘I’m not vain,’ August scowled, putting the cup down and finally looking you in the face

You softened your teasing just a little.

‘I didn’t say you were vain. There’s nothing wrong with a man who looks after his appearance. It’s… sexy.’

That stopped him and a spark of pleasure brightened his face.

You continued to lay it on thick.

‘Come now, a good looking guy like you? And you don’t know it? I find that hard to believe.’

He snorted quietly.

‘Do you ever think something that you don’t say?’ he asked, lifting a dark brow.

You leaned in on your elbows.

‘There are loads of things that I think, that I don’t say. That doesn’t mean that I won’t say them eventually.’

August’s lips lengthened into an inquisitive smile.

‘Like?’

‘Like?’ you repeated and decided to come clean. ‘I just said that you were sexy.’

You made an airy, dismissive gesture.

‘That’s not a new thought.’

You felt a chill manifest as a soft, insistent tingling that skittered all along your skin. Everything you’d hidden about your feelings for him was almost all the way out and you couldn’t stop yourself.

‘It’s not new that I’d do anything for the manifesto to be realised,’ you continued.

When August put down the cup, you reached out and clasped both hands over his.

‘That I’d do anything for you, August.’

The passion in your own voice stunned you. Surely, you had once again overstepped his boundaries.

First, it was kissing him without asking,  and now this, though August didn’t seem bothered by your audacity. He turned his hands up to enclose yours.

‘And I reward loyalty,’ he answered, voice low and full of promise.  

You drew in a long breath through loosely pursed lips, which August seemed to appreciate for his eyes lowered to your wet mouth. His own lips parted in response and you wondered if you climbed across that table and onto his lap, would it have been considered outlandish.

You didn’t think about any of that, as you stood up onto the wooden bench. With his handsome face brimming with delight, August held onto your hands and steadied you as you scrabbled across the table and landed astride his muscular thighs with a satisfied ‘ooof!’

He grimaced from the sudden pressure slamming down on his still tender leg and you were immediately contrite.

‘I’m sorry,’ you murmured, sliding your arms around his neck and curling your fingers into his shaggy curls. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll not play so rough next time.’

‘I like it rough,’ said August, running his hands over your hips to grip you close.

And then you kissed him, softly, fully, feeling his lips come apart beneath yours. Breathing him in, your thoughts ran wild.

I could get used to this. I could indulge in this all day. I could–

Then, ever a man of ill timing, Mr. Instant Coffee bustled into the kitchen, and it took him a moment to realise what he was interrupting.

‘Oh, shite, ok… uhh so that’s happening. Ok, great, but ah, you two… we need to get a move on. The car leaves in ten.’

And then he was gone, leaving you staring at the recently vacated kitchen doorway with your arms dangling over August’s shoulders. Reluctantly, you backed off of August’s lap and smiling, you cupped his cheek, pressed your thumb against the dimple in his chin and walked off to grab your travel bag.

It was back to the States again, the keys of Florida where Luther Stickell was vacationing on a secluded houseboat.

**

Stickell was not hard to find. His boat was moored in one of the farthest berths and was lit up like Christmas. He was having a party.

So much for keeping a low profile, you thought as you stepped off of the elegant cabin cruiser that had been rented for your mission. Your craft was berthed far enough away from his that no one in Stickell’s party could see August in his scuba gear, stepping off the low deck and into the dark water.

Standing on a nearby wooden piling, a pair of seagulls watched you suspiciously, the way birds do, and you lifted a finger to your lips, shushing them.

Holding a pair of strappy heels in your hand, you walked down the slatted dock between yachts and other smaller boats.  You purposefully wore a skimpy sequined dress, in the hopes of talking your way into the party. There were casually dressed men standing on the dock and smoking and they stopped talking as you approached. They didn’t look like bodyguards, but just like regular blokes. Easy to manipulate.

‘Hullo!’ you called happily, flapping your hand at them in greeting, affecting tipsiness. ‘I couldn’t help coming over. I just came from another get-together, but I’m not done partying yet. Ya’ll mind if I… ’

You made a walking motion with your index and middle fingers towards the boat. One of the men smiled and swaggered towards you. He held out a hand which you took and he led you to the edge of the boat, then helped you down the stairs.

Too easy.

There were people milling about on the port deck and some people playing cards inside, but not a lot was going on. It appeared to be at the tail end of the party, where people were trying to drink the last of the booze and eat the last of the food before they were forced to go home. You spotted Luther at the card table. He was laughing around a huge cigar clamped between his front teeth and then he threw the cards down on the table with a triumphant cry. The men sitting there erupted in jeers and hoots as he raked in the pile of money from the centre of the table.

Scanning the area you then went down the stairs to the toilet and stood in the dark narrow corridor thinking about August swimming around beneath your feet as he planted bomb charges against the boat’s hull.

The thought of him down there was strangely arousing.

August was stronger now, strong enough to cause mayhem with his own hands, and it was all you wanted for him. You crouched by the toilet and dug about in your handbag, pulling out one of Ayami’s personal creations – something she’d called her ‘cherry bang bang’. You drew out a black device that was flat on the bottom and round on the top. It looked harmless enough, almost like a little cake, but you knew the massive power packed into that sweetly named bomb. She had given you and August a personal demonstration of the destructive power of her little sweets. You placed a kiss on its glossy surface and adhered it to the underside of the toilet bowl.

‘You are a gem, Ayami,’ you chuckled and pushed upright.

You made your way back to the upper level and moving about unnoticed you planted more cherry bang bangs, even adhering one to each of the fishing chairs bolted to the port side deck.  

A chill settled over the harbour. The guests soon drifted inside and eventually left the party altogether.

You walked back to the rented cabin cruiser to find August waiting for you. His hair was curly and damp and there were pressure marks from the dive mask across his brow. You went up on tiptoes to kiss him. August caught you about the waist and wrapped you up in his arms, lifting you to deepen the kiss. Trapped like that against his big, hot body,  your heart throbbed excitedly. If he could elicit such wonders from your body with just a kiss and an embrace, you couldn’t imagine what other magic he could work.

‘Ready?’ he asked, bending to put you back on your feet.

You nodded and tossing your shoes aside, went to sprawl on one of the long creme coloured couches. August started the engine and guided the cruiser out of the berth. When you were a safe distance away, he reached for your hand and helped you up to the top deck.

You could see the lights of Stickell’s boat twinkling in the distance.  And after about twenty more minutes, once everyone was finally gone, Luther shut off the boat lights.  You and August got up from your deck chairs. You held up the binoculars and adjusted them until the houseboat came into sharp focus. All you could see now was the red glow of Luther’s cigar as the man sat out in one of the fishing chairs and enjoyed the rest of his evening.

August put one arm about your waist, big hand splaying across your stomach, and held up the detonator with the other.

‘Two down,’ you said and he depressed the button.

The explosion was brilliant.

Through the binoculars, you watched the boat burn and sink, but August was more interested in kissing the back of your neck and exposed shoulders to pay attention.

‘Mmmm,’ you purred slyly, leaning your head back against his shoulder. ‘Did you like that? Was it good for you?’

‘So good,’ he answered giving you one last kiss before releasing you.

You opened your mouth to say something but the distant sounds of sirens broke the silence.

Time to go, you thought and the both of you disappeared into the night.

**

You didn’t want to go back to the safehouse right away. As nice as the country house was, being cooped up between those four floral walls drove you crazy. August paid for a few nights at the Shangri-la hotel in London so that you could shower in temperatures above lukewarm, and sleep in a broad bed beneath washing detergent scented sheets.

And when August made love to you on those soft sheets,  your earlier conjecture regarding his sexual prowess, did not prepare you for the bliss you experienced with him buried deep inside you.

It was nearly nine in the morning, a few days after your expedition to the Keys, and propped up with a pillow under your armpit, you lay on your side across the hotel bed, a bowl of spag bol, and your open laptop on the white duvet in front of you. You were half under the thick covers and half out of it because the room was warm, but not uncomfortably so. August emerged from the adjoining bathroom, wearing one of the luxurious bathrobes and towelling dry his hair.

He tossed the towel across the footrest by the chair and stretched out on the bed behind you, looking over your shoulder to read the Miami Herald’s bold headline. He slid his hand beneath your tee-shirt and caressed the skin between your shoulder blades. How he figured out that you liked that, still remained a quandary, but you were glad that you didn’t have to ask for it.

‘Oh, dear,’ you said feigning distress. ‘Did you hear about the accident that happened in Florida? Tsk… such a shame.’

‘Is he dead?’ asked August, as he nuzzled your shoulder.

‘Yes, sir,’ you teased, reaching back to playfully push him off. ‘You are not paying attention.’

‘I am. I’m paying attention to what’s important.’

The implication of his statement drifted right over your head as you were too focused on proving him wrong.

He kissed your neck again and grunted when you jabbed him with an elbow.

‘Well, if you were paying attention to what was important, you’d know that…’

‘That Dunn is here in London,’ August finished for you and continued to lazily caress your back.

That shut you right up. How did he know?

‘Of course, you knew,’ you chuckled.

‘I suggest,’ said August, changing the subject and lifting his head to take your earlobe between his lips. ‘We take one more day here and then find him.’

As he spoke, August slid his hands beneath you, turned you away from the laptop and pulled you atop him. You wriggled with delight, and grasping the robe’s belt, you pulled the knot free and let it fall open.

‘Just one day?’ you asked, sliding down the length of his body to ease his cock into your mouth.

‘Anything!’ he gasped, the heat of your mouth robbing him of coherent through. ‘Whatever you want.’

You wanted at least two extra weeks after the mission.

**

When you woke hours later, August was gone. There was a note left for you on the nightstand and in his neat print he’d written, ‘Supply Run.’

You stretched under the duvet and tapped the stiff cardstock against your lower lip.

Supply Run either mean food, or guns and knowing August, it was probably the latter. You were just raiding the over-stocked minibar refrigerator when he returned to the hotel room, carrying a long black duffel which he dropped onto the chaise at the end of the bed.

‘Guns,’ you said aloud, looking up from the chilled box of chocolate.

‘What?’ he asked, shrugging out of his jacket.

You smiled and shook your head and switched on BBC World Service.

Unzipping the duffel, August asked, ‘what do you know about Sage Software?’

‘Nothing,’ you answered truthfully. ‘Who are they?’

‘They supply small business software. Dunn is working with them and hacking them.’

Taking the chocolates to the bed, you opened your laptop and searched the business. With a laugh, you rolled over onto your back and looked up at August with interest. He was smiling slightly back at you.

‘Well, what do you know?’ you said with amusement. ‘Sage is located in the Shard, which is… ’

August nodded to you and his grin widened.

‘Right downstairs,’ he finished.

‘Did you plan this? Getting a room here because he was downstairs?’ you giggled, when he leaned over to kiss you.

‘Of course. Leave nothing to chance, Princess.’

Well, that nickname was new, you thought, delighted.

‘What’s the plan, then?’

August stretched out on his back next to you and folded his hands on his belly.

‘He’s got an office on the 13th and is there most nights.’

‘Most nights,’ you repeated and waited for him to finish his thought.

‘Tonight.’

**

Dunn was surprisingly easy to pick off. You had expected for him to have cameras and monitors and other high tech stuff to alert him to the presence of anyone who came unannounced to his office. And, you were surprised that /he/ was surprised when August quietly opened the thin office door and let himself in.

You stayed in the corridor and watched the scene unfold through the narrow decorative glass panel next to the door.

Dunn obviously recognised and remembered August,  because he bolted out of his swivel chair and threw himself against the wall behind him.

‘I thought you were dead!’ you heard him shout before the silenced round splattered him across the frog poster that announced ‘work hard, play hard, live hard’.

You clapped lightly as August exited the office.

‘Well done, baby,’ you praised him. ‘But come on. I heard the lift bell. It would be stupid of us to get caught.’

All the little piggies had gone to slaughter. All except one.

**

Ethan Hunt was not a stupid man.

In fact, he was quite the opposite. He was cunning and clever and suspicious which were characteristics that helped him to remain one of the top Mi6 agents.

He also had a golden streak of very good luck and August Walker was just about to ruin that man’s whole career.

‘He went squirrely, ’ said Ayami who was pawing through a tin of broken Danish butter cookies from where she sat perched on the kitchen counter-top.

Two weeks after you returned from the Dunn business,  Ayami just turned up at the country safe-house. Much to your delight, you’d found her one morning sitting at the kitchen table having a bagel and cream tea. And you knew why she was there. Things were winding up to the big payoff and the team needed to be as consolidated as possible.

‘What does that mean?’ you asked her but it was Mr. Instant Coffee who answered.

‘Means that he knew what’s good for him and went underground.’

‘Because all of his peeps were getting murdered,’ Ayami finished cheerfully and you half expected her and Instant Coffee to slap hands in a celebratory high-five.

August sat silently in his usual place, thoughtfully turning the small white coffee cup in a circle on the table.

‘Last time he was seen?’ he asked finally.

‘Park hotel, Berlin,’ Instant Coffee read from the reports supplied by the ‘boots on the ground’ team. ‘Been there for about a week, but he hasn’t really stayed one place for more than that. We should have moved earlier.’

‘No,’ said August, not looking at him, but at the cup. ‘No, we want to give him enough rope to hang himself. Let him get complacent.’

‘Do we have time to let him get complacent?’ Instant Coffee said. ‘I mean, the longer we wait, the more time he’ll have to burrow in like a fucking tick.’

You looked at Instant Coffee for a moment. He did have a point.

‘Okay,’ August replied easily. ‘You’re right.’

At that moment, your respect for August Walker increased ten-fold. That he was able to take in the opinion of the other members of his team was unbearably sexy. He may have earned a little leg over for later that night.

‘I’m going alone,’ August announced finally, drawing the sharp attention of everyone in the room.

You reined your own reaction because an emotional response in that instant would have been inappropriate. You knew exactly why August wanted to hunt down Ethan alone. Hunt had not only gravely wounded August’s body but also his pride. His revenge was personal.

‘That’s probably not a good idea,’ said Instant Coffee, obviously feeling confident that he had scored a few brownie points a few moments earlier.

August scowled and looked to you. Meeting his gaze,  you nodded once.

‘August should face Hunt alone,’ you said to the room and then to him, added, ‘but I don’t think you should go alone.’

There was so much gratefulness in his eyes that you felt embarrassed and looked away. You didn’t want August to see the answering distress in your eyes. If the fight on the cliff side had been fair, and luck hadn’t been on Hunt’s side, August wouldn’t have lost. Tossing August over the edge was poor sportsmanship. You were afraid that Hunt would employ other clever tricks and defeat August for the second time. And now that August wanted to take on the IMF leader alone ensured that he would be left vulnerable to losing the upper hand.

You didn’t want to lose him again, but you remained silent. This was ultimately August’s decision and he had made his choice.

**

The two of you didn’t speak much on the trip to Berlin. There wasn’t much to say. You didn’t dare express to him your fears, because that would only serve to distract him with your possibly misplaced doubt. And distraction was the last thing August needed.

When he pulled up to a local hotel to drop you off, you stayed in the car, sitting quietly for a moment, unsure what to do or say. Sighing, you turned to him and reached to cup his cheek.

‘See you soon,’ you encouraged him. ‘Bring me a trophy.’

August nodded and you got out of the car.

Come back to me, you thought watching the car disappear in the afternoon traffic.

Your room faced the Berliner Fernsehturm and you could hear music from the festival going on in the square below. You took a long hot shower and stretched on the surprisingly comfortable bed. It wasn’t the Shangri-la, but it was charming and it wasn’t long before you fell asleep.

The room door thunking shut as if a heavy weight collapsed against it awoke you hours later. With a gasp, you shot upright and reached for your weapon. You couldn’t remember where the light switch was, so when you scrambled up from the bed, you backed up to the table under the window and jerked open the curtains to let in the artificial outdoor light.

The scent of sulphur and petrol filled the room and as your eyes slowly adjusted to the differences in the light you could just make out the bulky form sitting on the floor against the door. You knew that form as the impression of it was etched on your own flesh.

You put your weapon aside and padded barefoot across the hardwood floor, grabbing a towel and wetting it as you passed the small bathroom alcove. You crouched before the shadowed figure and put your hand beneath his chin. You lifted his face to the light and it was clear that Hunt had given August a run for his money.

You gently cleaned the dried blood from his mouth and chin, carefully working it out of his moustache and scruff.

You wanted to say something reassuring, something positive, but you were too overwhelmed with relief.

‘Well,’ you murmured, stroking his face. ‘I hate to see the other guy.’

August was silent and you hoped you hadn’t over stepped the line.

He then held up a small package wrapped neatly in butcher’s paper and tied with white twine. You took it from him, pulled the string and the paper unfolded  to reveal your trophy. Holding it up to the light, it took a moment for you to recognise the carefully extracted evidence of Hunt’s death and you smiled.

‘Come on, you big brute,’ you said fondly, attempting to pull him up from the floor.

When August didn’t budge, you stopped straining against his weight and gasped with exertion.

‘You’re gonna have to help me here, babe!’

Groaning miserably, August managed to get his feet beneath him using the door and you to heave himself from the floor. You struggled to get him out of his clothes  and under the soft yellow light above the sink you examined him. Big swollen bruises bloomed across his chest and back accompanied by several shallow scrapes and slashes. You wasted no time washing him up, patching his wounds, and getting him into bed.

Lying on his belly, August was still asleep when you woke the next morning. You went to the minibar refrigerator, withdrew your trophy and admired it in the morning sunlight. Your mobile beeped.

It was a message from Ayami.

‘Tell your boyfriend to be a little less conspicuous next time, ok?’ she’d written.

Curious, and glancing at August’s sleeping form, you rang her.

‘What’s that mean?’ you asked when she answered.

‘I mean that August didn’t need to leave that fucker’s burning corpse in the warehouse. He damn near burned down the place.’

‘He was obviously sending them a message,’ you answered, smiling gleefully, proud of your little murder puppy.

‘I can understand that,’ she shot back sounding uncharacteristically irritable. ‘But that also earned us more attention than we wanted.’

You sobered.

‘Is this something that needs to be taken care of?’

‘It’s already handled,’ she answered and some of her good humour crept back into her voice.

You sighed and relaxed, wrapping an arm about your midsection.

‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ you said after a moment with no conviction in your voice and she laughed incredulously.

‘When are you coming back?’ she asked, changing the subject.

‘I dunno. Depends on what August wants.’

‘Ok, you two lovebirds hash it out and I’ll see you… whenever.’

‘Thanks, Ayami. I love you!’

‘Get something from the Wall museum for me, ok?’

You disconnected the call and tossed aside the mobile.

Feeling a warm sense of well-being, you re-wrapped your trophy and stored it in the refrigerator again. Climbing into bed next to August, you lifted his arm, crawled beneath it, and curled your body against him.

August had exacted his revenge and you felt satisfied for him. But you weren’t sure what was going to happen now. The mission that had consumed so much of your year was over. You felt un-moored and a little panicked, but when August tightened his arm round you, your hamster wheel of thoughts scattered.

There was time to worry later, now in the heat of August’s embrace was peace and with a small smile still on your lips, you put your head against him and slept.

-end

[sneyrwrites]

|1| |Asteroid| Oikawaa Toruu

|Oikawa Tooru x reader| 

|Alien AU|  |Multipart | |Wordcount: 2604| 

The nights in the observatory were long and lonely since his coworkers left on vacation.

All night watching at a screen keeping record of the sky was something he used to do for fun, but now it had become a tedious task, until the satellite he was monitoring moved to anther section, he was stuck observing the same old nebula. That day the only interesting occurrence was a peanut-shaped cloud of dust surrounding a few young stars.

It was beautiful, but he had seen the same thing for the last week straight.

Sighing, Oikawa leaned back on his chair, the soft cushions soothing a little the back pain it appeared suddenly because of the several hours of hunching over the buttons. He closed his eyes, trying to relax. A nap wans’t going to hurt, Oikawa had everything configured to alert him if something went slightly out of normal.

He drifted off, the long hours awake doing the maintenance knocking him unconscious.

A weird static noise woke him up a few hours later

Opening his heavy eyes, Oikawa looked at the screens in front of him. Everything  seemed fine, except for a rare radio wave. It wasn't like the normal popping sounds from Mercury. It was more like the tone Venus made, but pitched up. A constant note.

"What the f...?" He looked strange at the oscillating curve of the transmission and track the phenomenon down. He needed to record it.

His fingers flew across the keyboard, with an experience years of practice polished to perfection. It intrigued Oikawa, as he with one hand collected data while with the other he chugged down the rest of  his cold coffee, trying to keep the sleepiness at bay

As he was figuring out the quadrant where it came from when the alarms blasted off.

The remaining sleep lest his body, as he was startled by the blasting noise. Now he was concerned. Warning signs flashed across the screens and everything went crazy. Desperate to figure out what was happening Oikawa got up, franticly tapping away, trying to decipher what was causing the chaos and the raising of his heart.

 Everything went black,  the observatory going silent.

Oikawa sat heavily on his chair, the anxiety that had circulated  his body starting to dissipate. Maybe everything was just a glitch from the generator, there was no way every single computer and hardware in there could just malfunction like that because of a signal. He was grateful he had made a backup copy that day. It would've been a catastrophe if he had procrastinated another day.

Oikawa leaned his head back and rubbed his face, his eyes closed as he tried to calm his laboured breath.

He just sat there, waiting for the power to come back up, the silent air of the mountain almost deafening. He never noticed how lonely it could get in the observatory, the constant buzzing of the machinery helping him distract. But now, with everything shutdown he realized he had chosen a solitary career.

He wondered how was Iwaizumi doing; it had been a few months since Oikawa left the top of the mountain to go see him. Even tho they never understood the other's life choices they still supported them. When Hajime joined the army Oikawa was there to support him, he would've never guessed his best friend was into serving and protecting the country.

He would call him when the power returned.

A blinding light flashed behind his closed lids and he perked up, ready to get to work on resetting everything. But he stopped in his tracks when he noticed that the light wasn't coming from the ceiling, but from outside. The weird warm light came from the windows. A strange red hue on it.

He got up and looked out. And it petrified him when he saw it. 

An asteroid coursing through the sky, right there in the middle of nowhere. It got closer and closer each time, shards of it coming off from the friction with the atmosphere, tuning it into a meteorite.

Oikawa was awestruck as he observed the lights flashing as the anomaly soared the sky, it was so beautiful.

It was falling at an alarming speed, and in less than a second the light disappeared behind the forest, the remaining of the meteor crushing to the ground. Light blinded him, and a cloud of steam, smoke and dirt went up in the air.

The trees surrounding the planetary shook from the impact, and the earth trembled.  Oikawa felt a flutter in his belly. Since he was a kid he had dreamed of witnessing an asteroid with his very own eyes. Throwing caution to the wind, he got up and ran to the exit, his shoes squeaking on the recently polished floor.

Stopping halfway, he turned back and grabbed his camera. Oikawa needed to document this, or no one would believe him. He was aware he needed to call someone, but he was way too excited to care. He would inform the authorities later, but for now he was going to fulfill one of his dreams.

The crisp night air slapped his cheeks as he ran through the trees of the woods that surrounded the observatory. Oikawa dodge tree branches and roots, hurrying his feet to go faster, not caring about the dangers. What if there was a harmful amount of radiation?

He could stand an extra ear if he could see the meteorite with his very own eyes.

As he got closer, he noticed the devastation the impact created. The tops of the trees were smoking and the pine needles had disappeared from its branches. The smell of burnt wood stung his nose, and he sneezed, slowing his pace. The heat grew, and a tingling sensation lifted the hairs of his arms.

The plants were shattered right at the middle, charred wood turned black. The asteroid must have break them on impact. He looked around, amazed at the consequences of the odd astronomical occurrence, and searching for the remaining. There was no way whatever caused this had disappeared with no remaining. Where he expected to see a giant piece of steaming rubble, he just saw a bright light.

It almost looked like it had form, but he knew that was impossible, light only manifested in the form of rays, it didn’t have a mass. He needed to see it up close.

With small hesitant steps, he moved forwards getting near the thing sprawled in between two broken trees, suspended in the branches. Energy buzzed in the air, and he felt his hair rais because of the static. Oikawa’s eyes got used to the brightness of the unidentified object, and he noticed that whatever it was, it looked like a body .

And it had moved.

Oikawa froze in place, as he saw how the thing slowly lifted what seemed to be a head, as if the motion took a toll on its body. Hands made of light gripped branches and it got down from the uncomfortable place, the same sound Oikawa heard from the radio emanating from its form. It turned its head, looking around, as if taking in the unfamiliar environment, and stopped when it turned to him.

Oikawa could feel a cold sweat run down his body. Was he dreaming? He couldn't make sense of what he was seeing, he's brain went in overdrive. Fear made his feet stuck to the ground, making it imposibble to follow his instincts to run away as fas as he could, and call for help.

The thing didn't have a face, and it looked like it didn't have gender  either. It almost looked  as if the light was compacted inside a balloon, glowing, but difusing it at the same time, and Oikawa noticed it didn't hurt his eyes at all. It was like looking at the sun without all the drawbacks.

His heart sped up even more when it took a hesitant step towards him, almost as if it was determining if Oikawa was a threat or not. Heat radiated from the thing and when it was only a couple of feet away, it extended an illuminated limb, fingers made of pure light shined, as a palm face him. If he wanted it, he could have reach out and brush his hand into its, but he was afraid.

He stood still. A shimmer came from the thing's hand and embraced him, surrounding him in a cocoon of warmth. He could feel the light brushing his skin, almost as if it was an extension of the thing in front of him, and the tenderness of it dissipated a little his nerves.

The cold invaded him when the rays retreated and it's hand went down. An explosion of white blinded him, and he fell startled on the floor, rocks digging in his palms, a few cuts opening up. A few heartbeats passed before he could open his eyes again without feeling like his eyeballs would fry.

The light being had disappeared, the only thing illuminating the dark woods were the burning leaves on the floor. If no one took care a wild fire might occur.

Oikawa got to his feet,  a disappointed feeling weighting down on his belly. He had witnessed something out of this world, literally, and he lost the chance to record it. Sighing, he lifted the camera and snapped a couple of pictures of the landing point and turned to leave.

His scream resonated through the woods.  Right in front of him there was a girl, just staring at him.

The lack of clothes on her body made a blush invade his face, as he tried to avert his gaze. She looked at him confused and leaned in, inspecting the change of color in his cheeks.

"um..." Oikawa started. Her eyebrows rose in her face, and her hand raised to his neck, trying to feel his vocal cords, but  Oikawa jumped back, before she could touch him "What the hell are you doing!?"

"What the hell are you doing..." She responded, a tender tone in her voice. The words came out a little slurred as if she was trying to make sense of them, as if she never heard them before.

Something in Oikawa's brain clicked. It was her, the thing that had fallen from the sky was standing right in front of him, and it had taken the form of a human. He took a few steps back, raising his arms in between them, trying to keep her at bay .

His gaze lingered a little more than appropriate on her chest and then fall down to her stomach. She had no belly button.

"What the hell are you doing..." She repeated, stepping towards him.

"Don't come closer!" He warned, hoping she understood, and that the tremble in his voice was just a product of his imagination.

"Don't..." The t's she made were exaggerated and strong. " Closer, don't what..." She tried to communicate, and if Oikawa wasn’t about to faint from the fear, he would have been amazed by the proof of alien intelligence e right in front of his very eyes.

She raised her own arms, imitating him,  eyes soft. Oikawa relaxed a little. She hadn't attacked him yet. That was a friendly sign, right?

Letting his arms fall to his side, the curious side of Oikawa’s brain took over, completely ignoring the voice of reason that told him to get the hell out of there. He walked up to her and examined her body 

She seemed human, skin looked normal, no weird colors like blue or green, no third eyes or tentacles, no slimy substance covering her or  teeth's poking out. Her hair was pretty and her eyes followed his movements as he circled her, trying to find something out of normal, besides the missing belly button.Careful not to scare her, he reached his hand to touch her skin. She stood still, a curious look on her face as Oikawa's  fingers brushed  her shoulder.

 A startled gasp left her lips.  He imitated her when he felt the high temperature of her body. His eyes went up to hers, and he took a step back when he noticed the change in her expression. It was almost as if she was blushing, but it looked wrong.

Her cheeks were glowing, almost as if two lightbulbs  were behind her skin. Her pupils made the goosebumps invade his body. They were glowing, and not only that, but they were glowing red, the same shade as the one he saw out the window.

"Um... Are you okay?” Oikawa asked. And wanted to kick himself right after, she didn't know his language, how did he expected her to respond?

The light on her face had faded, and she was back to normal, or well, as normal as an alien could be.

Surprising Oikawa, she brushed her fingertips across the exposed patch of skin in his chest, right above the collar of his shirt. A rumble came out of her, it wasn't threatening, almost like a purring of a cat. She seemed entertained caressing his skin, as if she never had felt anything like it. He felt like a dog for a second and wanted to laugh.

A chuckle came from his chest at the dumb thought, and maybe a little because of the craziness of the situation. Who would've thought that him, Oikawa Tooru, who had been obsessed with aliens for his entire life would've met one in person?

When the alien girl felt the vibration under her palm she looked up. Her touch traveled across his neck, a tingling sensation lingering where she had been, warmth spreading through his body. When she touched a sensitive spot where he was ticklish, his fist clenched.

Pain shot trough his arms as he remembered the minor injuries on his palms. A hissing sound left his lips, tearing her concentration from exploring his body. Blood had trickled down his palm. She grabbed his hands and examined them, a furrow on her brows.

Her fingers lighten up and Oikawa felt her temperature rising. He looked at her eyes and saw her pupils shining again. His hands were suddenly engulfed in a ball of warm light, an energy flowing from her to his body.

He just stood there, not knowing what was happening, letting her do whatever she was doing. Her actions hypnotised him, the fear had already out of his body only leaving excitement behind. Now his heart was racing for another completely different reason, the surrealism of everything causing a flutter in his belly.

She let go of him and took a step back. Oikawa almost missed the comfort of her touch, but he remembered the cuts in his hands. He surely had stained her hands. His eyes went to her fingers, almost certain he would find his blood on her, but he was surprised to see them void of any red stains.

Did he imagine it all? No, he remembered the sharp and throbbing pain in his palms.

Estranged he looked at his hands, and he felt a wave of dizziness invade him.

They were healed. 

The once torn skin now was fixed, no signs of cuts, dirt or blood. He looked up at her once more. The alien girl was just looking at him, as if she was waiting for something to occur.

Her pupils flashed bright once, and a flash of scorching heat slapped his palms. Horrified, Oikawa saw the bright markings on him, circles on his once even skin shining as if they were neon signs, matching the color of her eyes.

He felt sick. What the hell just happened? What did she do to him?

He opened his mouth to ask her just that, but with another flash of her eyes everything went dark, and Oikawa was out.

✘ Masterlist

[the-monkeies-girl]

My Love. [Roger Taylor.]

me? the angst queen? don’t even get me STARTED. Reblogs / Likes are always appreciated. Stay awesome. Love you. - Miss Em.

Title: My Love. Pairing: BoRhap! Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader. Words: 3,405. Rating: T. ( Very angsty, language, cheating. ) Summary: Roger was what a lot of people called a serial cheater. You thought he’d changed. But, did he really? [This is Part one of two.]

READ IT ON MY AO3.

It was strange. You genuinely felt like you should have yelled, thrown something, shoved the girl off of your ‘boyfriend’ as they both came drunkenly stepping into the hotel room you were waiting in. His hotel room. Freddie had given you a spare key so you could properly surprise Roger on tour, knowing just how hard being thousands of miles apart truly was because you were one half of the relationship that the miles were taking a very serious toll on. You were coping by letting yourself be lonely, letting yourself cry yourself to sleep some nights after he’d call you just to chat between the end of the show and the eagerness to leave on the tour bus to get to the next city, you walked around your flat, almost helpless at the way you were feeling. At the bitter sensation that you could almost feel Roger’s arms ghosting around your waist and dancing you towards him like you so often did. He himself… Very obviously coped in one way that you were warned about from a few other girls, which could have caused your lack of reaction as you looked at the girl holding onto Roger’s bicep, her clean and well done nails pressing into his skin, the make-up clad look she gave you out of confusion, her red lips parting as if she were going to as Roger who you were, the high heeled feet stumbling a bit in a drunken state that if she moved forward or made any sort of action, you’d be sure to smell the alcohol. Physically, you saw Roger’s eyebrows raise in shock at the fact that you were there, sitting on his bed-- well-- now standing and grabbing a small bag off the floor which he deduced slowly was in fact your luggage. A nine hour flight for this bullshit, you thought, refusal to even associate yourself with him any longer blundered into your actions. You hadn’t intended to stay long, only one or two days with the very foolish notion that perhaps, Roger was missing you just as much as you were. You were a fool to believe anything he said anymore, now or in the past.

I miss y o u.

Okay? But, did you really, Roger?

I had a dream about y o u.

That’s a lie, Roger. Stop lying to me.

I can’t want to get home and kiss y o u.

You’re not allowed to kiss me anymore.

This tour is killing me, I just want to see y o u.

I never want to see you again, Roger.

There’s only y o u.

There never was just you and me. I just let myself fall in love and lulled myself to believe that it was just us.

I love y o u.

That is the biggest load of bullshit.

Numb, that was a good way to put it. You were very numb and you had no instant recollection of grabbing your things, looking at the girl holding onto the arm you knew so well that your fingers twitched as you remembered how it felt to trace the muscles he’s built up from years upon years of beating a drum, walking passed the two of them with Roger’s blue eyes holding onto your body, searching for something that you were no longer going to give him. He had lost everything from you. He had lost those early morning laughs when the two of you were too tired to get out of bed and do anything, those last minute kisses from you as you refused to let him leave the flat without saying a proper goodbye, those late nights when he’d come home from the studio on the verge of tears because he knew what he signed up for, but it was still hard and frustrating… The chance to leave a nasty thing behind for a loving and reciprocating relationship. 

All it. Void in that moment. Oddly, as you looked into his eyes finally and let one of your hands push the semi-opened door all the way so you could leave, you felt like a receipt. Transaction completed, next in line, you heard Roger’s voice in your head as his pink lips parted in desperation to say something. But, he couldn’t think fast enough. Couldn’t manage an excuse as to why he had brought a very obvious girl who knew who he was because Roger had a tendency of talking himself up to be more important that he was, who knew what they were going to get into even if it was going to be mediocre. He was never as great as he wanted to believe when drunk, in fact, he got sloppy and impatient. Roger brought all of this back to his hotel room at nearly one in the morning.

“Who was that?” Your ears picked up on the sound of the ditzy girl before the door clicked shut completely. You didn’t get Roger’s answer but you could still imagine what he said for you stood by the oak door, waiting, your face null of any emotion. You almost felt dead in the sense that all your memories with Roger felt like they were flashing before your eyes yet you found almost no sympathy for them. All of the kisses were a lie, all of the times you told him you loved him, while true to every letter of the phrase, very well could have meant nothing to him. You knew Roger’s answer to the girls inquiry and it was plastered in your skull like a banner because you had heard it so many times, in different varieties. It’s nothing, love. I’m doing nothing, love. I’m going nowhere, love, just out and about. ‘That was no one, love.’ Love this, love that. 

Lifting a hand, you made an almost orchestration gesture with your hand as if you were throwing those phrases carved into you by Roger himself away. You were never his love, you were never his. You wanted to push that door open and shout at him, but even that wasn’t good enough for what Roger had done. You wanted one thing and one thing only. To tear him down into tiny pieces fluttering into the air carelessly, almost like ash from a fire as you watch him burn into oblivion. You wanted to crush him into those tiny shards of glass that he was never going to be able to pick up without bleeding. They’re going to sink into his skin and cut him deeper, straight to the veins of his heart, more hurtful and bitter than any word or phrase was going to be able to captivate because there’s always going to be a small part of him that belonged to you, whether he wanted to admit that to himself now or live with the guilt that he had lost you. 

Your fingers twitched with want to grab him by his collarbone and slice into his chest, grabbing his heart and force him to watch you as you danced around with it in your hand, your grip getting tighter and tighter every time you caught eyes with him just to encapsulate the feelings that he gave you in this very moment. You would made it last though. This… What had happened only minutes ago took what seemed like an age to process, in fact it was still processing vividly in your mind as the scoring fact that he hadn’t opened the door behind you to go after you sunk deep into the crevices of your dead mind, and you’d make his payback last just as long, if not longer.

You wanted to, oh god you wanted to…

A lump in your throat that you hadn’t felt before rose and seemingly blocked your way from swallowing, giving you the sensation that if you took a step or moved in any sudden way you would automatically get sick. So, you stood there awkwardly in the dim-fluorescent lights of a hotel that was on the cheaper side, but still, nice if you cared about that sort of superficial things. The weight of your bag held down your shoulders like an anchor to the ground otherwise you were sure some sort of irrationality would bang on the door of your mind and you’d recklessly let it in, strangling you into doing something ridiculous out of retaliation. While there were so many things you were craving to do now, alone and frozen, you wanted to sleep more than anything. Maybe, if you slept, you’d forget all of this happened and you could go back home without saying anything, without being there for Roger anymore and just let him slide under the table as another lover as he so thoughtfully done for you over the space of your relationship. A sniffle escaped your body, the first sound that you finally made since seeing Roger’s face, still heavily ingrained into your thoughts.

‘What are you so surprised about?’ You wanted to ask him when his lips parted even more than they were, the cigarette between them dropping to the floor. ‘If it didn’t happen now, I’d have found out eventually.’ You imagined yourself saying as you recalled his slight sputtering upon seeing you, taking that extra step forward and almost covering the girl who was with him as if that wasn’t going to raise more questions. ‘She’s pretty, just your type.’ You wished you had the courage to actually say these things, just to hurt him more in the faux fashion that you didn’t care as much as he wanted to think. That would hurt him, you thought to yourself and wiped at your nose with the back of your sleeve.

Roger felt he was special; everyone and anyone wanted him because he was indeed talented and very good looking, but when you took those away, you were left with an insecure boy who lashed out any opportunity he got because he was so deathly afraid of anyone getting to know the reality of who he was. The severity of who he truly was. You had the opportunity to knock him off his high horse and say ‘hey, I didn’t actually love you after all this time because our relationship was built on lies and deception and I see that now. Have a good life whoring yourself out to any girl who gives you the slightest bit of attention. I’m through.’ You wished… Goodness, you wished you had the guts to have said that to him, to pretend that you didn’t feel your heart shatter into a thousand sand pieces right onto the floor of that hotel room.

“(Name)?” That was a very familiar voice that enunciated well, smooth and proper. Your mouth popped open as you glanced to your left to see if it was who you thought it was. Brian. The mess of curls caught the light and shone lightly, his face feigned concern and mild confusion as to why you were standing so silently like a statue outside of Roger’s hotel room. Why weren’t you inside with him? “Oh, god, you’ve scared me! Thought you were a ghost, just standing here all stiff. I didn’t expect to see you here---” He stopped speaking upon seeing the expression on your face.

A dropping face where the smile you managed to give him was so forced that it was painful for Brian to experience second-hand, redness around your eyes as you were still trying desperately to keep the tears from rolling down your cheeks and dropping off your chin. But, that was long forgotten when he caught eyes with you, the charade was over. It had been done and processed and it was time to break down in the only way you knew how. Crying. Your neck convulsed with the wall of tears that suddenly stung at the back of your throat and eyes, one more pitiful attempt to stop yourself from crying but it was all in vain. “Oh, fuck, (Name).” Brian himself was never great with girls who cried in front of him. He never knew what was proper etiquette in his attempts to calm them down unless he were dating them because that gave him more freedoms and more opportunity to touch and soothe in any way possible. The tears came flooding from your eyes though in fat rolls and Brian panicked momentarily, “What’s wrong? What happened? Do you- do you need me to get Roger?”

Hearing his name made it worse, you realized, hiccuping and raising your hands to cover your face as you shook your head no. No! You wanted to tell Brian, don’t get Roger, I don’t want him to see me like this, it’ll only give him more power to know that he broke my heart! No, no, no, no… “Here---” You felt his arm shroud you as if he were protecting you from anyone else seeing you in such a state. Brian was a friend and had been since you started dating Roger a year ago. He’d always been there for you during your arguments with the drummer which were consistent enough that you considered Brian’s couch back home a second bed. He’d console you in the best way he knew, telling you what you wanted to hear before reminding you that well… If you were going to be with Roger, you needed to remember that he was very difficult and not just a walk in the park. There was always going to be turmoil whether you wanted it or not, or some sort of never-ending drama because Roger had a knack for attracting it. “My room is down the hall, can you make it or---” There was nothing but a wordless nod as you let Brian take the lead. Tears were spilling onto your lips and as you peeked your tongue out to wet them properly, you tasted the saltiness and cringed just a bit. You’d never like the taste of tears, especially ones with such bitter intent to remind you of all that had happened tonight and presumably all that was going to happen as you knew you had to push your way through sobbing to explain to Brian what had happened.

This time was different… While you had your bickers with Roger before, usually over petty little things like who needed to do the dishes or you wishing he were home more, this was off-the-wall for Brian to give advice on. What did you want him to say? The guitarist thought to himself, unlocking his hotel room door and swinging it open. With a hand on the small of your back, he urged you forward, flicking the light on by the door and letting it click shut behind the two of you once you were both inside. You seemed to linger almost lifelessly by Brian, hoping that in some way or another, he’d guide you into what you were supposed to do next. What were you supposed to do? While you had imagined going home and forgetting all of this, that, you were certain, would not happen. You lived with Roger. You shared a home, you shared domestic memories that were casually up-rooted by your idea of being spontaneous and surprising him on tour. He gestured to the bed as the two of you lingered for a second in that space between the actual room and the door. You didn’t dare look at yourself in the little mirror on the wall there, already hyper aware that you were jetlagged, tired and now sobbing uncontrollably and that was not something you wanted to partake in. Now, Brian was no fool, though he often times turned the other cheek when it came to Roger’s rather womanizing ways. He paid little attention to it for it was a lifestyle choice he didn’t find as appealing as the drummer. The prospect of having a woman and then throwing them away was something Brian didn’t seek to do; he had too much empathy. Upon seeing you in better light as you rested your bag down on the floor, taking a spot on the full sized bed of his, he felt something sink indescribably within his stomach, as if he had swallowed a large spoonful of the most ill tasting soup imaginable.

In a simple way, though he wouldn’t tell you this outloud for he was sure you already knew, you looked absolutely awful. While your eyes were so often full of happiness and joy whenever you were around Brian, they were almost cold and distant and he found it hard to read anything in them as you gazed up at him tiredly. Your lips refused to tug into a smile, even if you were forcing it. The one he had previously gotten from you in the hallway was hardly an expression of cheerfulness and was more agonizing on the eyes than you probably thought. It was the sort of face that you tried to give him right then and there but tears were still falling from your eyes. Your nose scrunched before your entire face balled up completely and Brian finally sought solace as he sat beside you, the bed shifting and squeaking a bit with the added weight. “You’ve got to tell me what happened if you want me to help you, otherwise I can’t do anything…”

You gestured nonsensically and if someone where to walk in at that moment, they probably thought you to be mildly insane as nothing came out of your mouth but a long wail, wavering in tiny vibrato. The sound stopped- you were left to cry silently, already to the point where you were crying too hard to make any noises other than the occasional gag as you caught your breath on the lump in your throat. Brian had rested a hand on your back softly, just to remind you that he was there and not going anywhere anytime soon, at least, until you stopped crying and maybe managed to rest on his bed. You were rendered speechless, holding your head in your hands and leaning into Brian without hesitation. There was nothing to lose anymore, nothing to bargain, nothing to bet or wager. You’d lost it all and at this point, you just wanted someone to hold onto you and mutter than things were going to be okay, that you would get passed this eventually, and that the world fucking sucked and that you had every right to be upset, even if that person didn’t know the extent of what happened.

Brian could take a hint. He trickled the hand from your back upwards so it was around your shoulder, coaxing you with the tips of his fingers to crawl properly into his touch. Which, you did. Your legs were up, you were in a ball on the bed, nuzzled into Brian’s side as he listened to you cry whilst trying to figure out what happened. Very obvious to him was the fact that you were here, in the United States. You were hanging out in front of Roger’s door with your bag, Brian hadn’t seen Roger since the beginning of the after-party for the concert, and now you were here, lonely, crying to him instead of crying to Roger. Something happened between the two of you, something… Something…. Brian tilted his head to the side and put his chin on your head, his other hand coming up to now rub your arm. Something happened between the time of the after-party to now. Had you surprised Roger and he got angry that you spent money to fly here to see him? Had Roger been drunk and stumbled into his hotel room, plastered and you were absolutely displeased with the state of--- oh.

With that thought hanging on by a thread, he put two and two together. You didn’t want to see Roger, you refused to see Roger, hearing his name seemed to trigger you even further into an abyss of tears… Brian’s eyebrows furrowed together as it locked and loaded inside of his mind. He knew what happened and he was indeed more foolish now than he had ever been for not thinking it firstly, as bad as that sounded. He knew Roger. He knew Roger’s habits and tactics. Brian knew what happened which spurred him to hold onto you that much tighter, uttering into your hair as you gripped his shirt and held him desperately. “Oh, god…”

//TAG LIST//

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ROGER ONLY TAG LIST: @rissa067

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[charlesrockafellor]

Sometimes risqué, generally just titillating, I give you chapter 1 (of 8) of "In for an Amy, in for a Pond" (click the linked title for the entire story), an Amy Pond tale (plenty of pulpy sci-fi, with a few nuggets of actual physics for fun).

=====

Chapter 1: Amy's wife

Summary: In which Amy discovers Amy, and they go off in search of Amy (and Amy, of course, not to mention Amy, and Amy, and...).

Amy stared at it.

There it was, standing right in front of her.  The TARDIS.  She had no idea why it looked golden, but lighting was certainly a bit odd on this level.  Blue... gold; she had a dress like that.

Shaking her head, she stepped inside, walking straight through to her room.

First thing was a relaxing bath and change of clothing, then food. It had taken her forever to find her way back here, and some of the less-traveled corridors really needed a good cleaning — and she'd yet to figure out how in the world she'd even managed to get down there in the first place.

At last! This skirt was not meant for hiking.

Stepping in, she found herself staring once more.

What has Rory done this time?

Everything was rearranged. The bed, the furniture — everything. Including her clothes, as it turned out. In fact, a good number of those weren't even hers.

Lovely. The Doctor's gone and used my closet as spillover storage! Ooh, nice outfit, that — it'll look good on me!

“What the bloody...?”

For the third time in as many hours, Amy found herself startled to a standstill, staring.

“Glad to see that you've made it,” the other Amy said, stepping around the console, just as the time rotor began to piston.

She couldn't help staring, her eyes traveling over the other. It was an odd but quite fetching outfit, halfway between the Red Baron and Captain Hook, and every inch of it skintight and riveting. It had to be the hat. Other-Amy wasn't wearing one, but Amy could just feel it there, tilted at a rakish angle.

My God, I'm incredibly gorgeous! If only she knew the thoughts going through my head right now...

“I do know the thoughts that are going through your head right now, you know,” the other said, “and really, they're rather shocking. Shall we go take care of that now, so that you can perhaps concentrate for more than five seconds, or shall we simply ravish each other right here? I won't mind either way at all, you know. Been looking forward to it quite a bit, truth to tell.”

“How did you — I —” she began, looking around for the Doctor, “Right then, there's been another one of those time things, hasn't there? How do we fix it this time?”

“I'm afraid not this time, darling. We're on our own, with all of the time in the world,” the other explained.

“Wait. Do you mean — then who's operating the TARDIS?”

“The Doctor, I imagine, or one of him, at any rate. Technically all of him,” her duplicate replied, “This is the SARDIV.”

“Sorry?”

“Void,” said the other, coming closer and leaning in as Amy found herself leaning backward against the wall, “Spacetime And Relative Dimension In Void. It comes from nontrivial zeroes of Riemann zeta on a degenerate set — not actually null, but good luck with the antiderivative. It helps to have an omnidirectional control device.

“It also takes some getting used to, what with E-space and everywhere else,” she said, running her fingers over Amy's shirtsleeve, “but there are some benefits. Also, you'll be glad to know that I keep a few more of your skirts on hand at all times, for fashion emergencies.”

“So, just to be clear: you're not me.”

“I'm Amelia,” the other said, taking a step back to bow, “But yes, I'm you — at least I was you eventually — except that I never was.”

This gave Amy pause.

“Good Lord, you're as bad as he is!”

“I should be,” Amelia replied, “I've had some time to practice. To the rational mind, nothing is inexplicable, only unexplained.”

“All right then, explain to me how this... SARDIV situation came about.”

“Well, future-you had a bit of an incident with the heart of the TARDIS, absorbing the time vortex itself. No one's meant to have that power. If a Time Lord did that, they'd become a god. It split you into several versions. It took quite some time to get us all back together, not to mention the research, and you've no idea how much my heads ached with that. In the end, the only solution was to materialize the TARDIS outside of itself at a point parallel to the center of the universe, but in interstitial space. Needless to say, this presented an issue. We got it done, but between Blinovitch and all of the Artron energy buildup that we each carried... we grounded out and it all overloaded, and the TARDIS had to be absolutely anywhere except wherever it was, but even nowhere is somewhere, all of this sort of shorting out the universe and resulting in a bit of a paradox, with time winds tilting the TARDIS across several boundaries that she was never meant to cross and a few directions that don't even exist, and me stepping out unscathed, you being you all over again, the rest of us out there, and the original you never having been exposed to the heart in the first place to cause all of this.”

“And how's that explain our being here, then?”

“Alright, I'll show you,” Amelia replied, stepping away for a moment, “It's because combinatoric potentiae and collapsed wave functions are not in the same dimension.”

Reaching into a recess, she withdrew several boxes.

“Which box is the real one?” she asked, holding them up for Amy's inspection.

Amy stood there puzzled, unsure of where this was going, but pointing to one at random.

Amelia grinned, jumbled the boxes around at random, and set all but one down on the console, then returned to hold up the remaining one in front of Amy, obscuring the view.

“Now, of those that you can see, which one is real?”

Amy pointed to the only one that she could see, still at a loss as to what Amelia was driving at.

“This one?” she hazarded.

“But it looks the same as the others!” Amelia remarked.

“Well, that's because they're all boxes.”

“Exactly. If you were to remove all of those from this one — and have this one here as well — the variations would be indistinguishable from the original, other than their differences of course.”

“That's silly.”

“That's transphase-spatial engineering, my key discovery.”

“Wait. So we're the tiny boxes, popping out the side of the bigger box?”

“Yeah. No. But if it helps, yes.

“In any event,” Amelia sighed, “at least you're here now. It was only a matter of time. I've been going mad here, all by myself. Shall we simply start with lunch, then?”

“But, Rory. Well. The Doctor! And home?”

“You're there right now, love. They're fine, and you're with them right now, since you never left. It's just that you're here with me, while they're therewith you. None of this ever happened for them. Come on, you'll feel much better with a few biscuits in you,” Amelia said, taking Amy's hand and leading her off in search of a good meal, “We'll 'play doctor' later — cross our hearts.”

Amelia's hand was warm and comfortable, and the view afforded her of Amelia's bottom swaying back and forth in front of her was indeed a completely captivating compensation for the moment. If she hadn't known any better, she'd have sworn that Amelia was accentuating her movements just to draw her thoughts thither, focusing on delving therein.

If only I could pry those—

“Enjoying yourself back there, are you, dear?”

=====

“You can't have been here all that long,” Amy observed, setting aside the now empty salad bowl and reaching for her soup and sandwich.

“You'd be surprised what a little untempered vortex can do for a body,” Amelia smiled, “but the weather on Gallifrey didn't suit my taste.”

“You've been?”

“Had to, now didn't I? This ship doesn't exactly come with a 'read me' file1.”

“What did you wear?”

“A tuxedo, of course,” she said.

Amy waited a beat.

“You wore white, as I recall,” Amelia winked.

Amy gaped, “I never!”

“Not yet, no.”

This veiled innuendo gave her some pause, sneaking peaks at her other self as she pretended to consider dipping her sandwich into her soup.

“Go ahead and dip, I like the way you purse your lips around the bread when you do. And the way the juices still drip from your chin afterward.”

Blushing furiously, she proceeded to do just that nevertheless.

“And it was a smoky blue, with muted gold and silver-gray brocade. What can I tell you? It was true love at last.”

Then it hit her, “Why did you go to Gallifrey?”

“I had to learn how to drive this thing.”

“Then how did you get to Gallifrey?”

“I had to learn how to drive this thing.”

“What did you do after?”

“A bit of this, a bit of that,” Amelia said, “and then I waited.”

“For...?”

“For you, of course.”

“That's a change.”

“Well, I waited once before, you might remember, so I had some practice.”

“But you didn't have to, this time.”

Amelia remained silent.

“You didn't, did you?”

“The SARDIV can get a bit stroppy,” was all that she said.

“Oh you poor thing! How long?”

Again, Amelia was silent.

“How long?”

“Long.”

“What, like our Rory?”

“Longer.”

Amy melted inside, reaching out to put her hand on Amelia's.

Amelia smiled, though it still held a touch of gray.

“Water under the bridge. You're here now, and that's what matters. So here we are, and it all comes down to... just another happy ending.”

“Yes, well,” Amy replied, then realized that she had no snark remaining in her just then, ending with “just don't you go thinking that a sob story will get you anywhere, miss.”

Amelia looked at her sidelong, saying “Not at all, Heaven forfend. I had in mind dinner and a movie first! I don't just whip out my sonic probe2 and show it to a girl before the first date.”

O ~~~ O

Keep Reading

Notes:

1 Read Me file: Not technically true. The SARDIV has an Index File just as much as any good TARDIS should. She's just not always quite as forthcoming as one might wish... just as one might well expect of any canon-TARDIS, at this point.

2 Sonic probe: This version has all of the usual bells and whistles, but also doubles as an MIB red flashy thing (neuralyzer circuits courtesy of some nice young gentlemen in suits) and psychic paper. Amy further discovers that it serves other — and much more “personal” — functions.

[juggieheadcoopers-blog]

Bughead soulmate au please? :)

Here you go, anon!

Title: The Girl From the Journal

Soulmate AU: Jughead Jones has been writing about a girl he has never met before, but when he leaves his journal at his favorite coffee shop one day, an unsuspecting young woman finds it without knowing that the stranger who wrote it was actually writing about her

–

She wears her hair held high in an off-the-face-neat-and-tidy sort of way that shows the world she’s ready to concur it. Her mind drifts from one idea to the next without stopping to take a breath. And although she doesn’t know it, she impacts every single person she meets just by being exactly who she is.

24-year-old, Jughead Jones III looked up from the beat-up journal that his father had given him for his sixteenth birthday eight years ago, turning in his seat to thank the waitress for the cup of coffee she had just set on the table in front of him. He had been writing an entry a day since he had found it sitting on his bed with a big red bow tied around the front cover when he got home from school, and he hadn’t missed a day since.

“Can I get you anything else?” the waitress, all fluttery eyelashes and puckered lips, asked in the sweetest voice she could possibly muster as she smoothed out her apron and turned to smile sweetly at him.

“No, that’ll be all, thanks,” Jughead dismissed her without a second glance, taking a small sip of his coffee and immediately picking up his fountain pen to continue writing.

“Well, if you need anything else, my name is Naomi,” the waitress informed him, taking a step back from the table and gesturing towards the front of the coffee shop. “I’ll be behind the counter for a while, so just let me know if-”

“Got it,” Jughead cut her off before she could finish, and Naomi sunk back behind the counter without another word.

Jughead focused his attention back to his journal entry for the day, furrowing his brow as he waited for more words about his mystery girl to flow from pen to page like they’d always done so naturally. He had been writing about this girl for years, and although she was nameless, she had distinct features that made her almost impossible to miss if he were ever to meet her in real life. She had become somewhat of an obsession of his over the past few months, distracting him from work and relationships to the point where he was beginning to believe that this girl he created in his mind, was actually out there somewhere waiting to be found.

Just as he was about to tackle his next paragraph, his phone began buzzing frantically on the table, causing the cup of coffee to shake and shimmy all across the table in the process.

“Mr. Dawson,” Jughead answered, his voice rising an octave the way it always did whenever he spoke to his boss. “Yes, I understand that there’s a deadline and I’m - no sir, I wasn’t aware that I took you for granted - yes, sir - yes, and I’ll be there in an hour - now I’ll be there right now, I’m on my way. Okay, see you soon - in ten minutes, I’ll see you in ten minutes, goodbye!”

Jughead clicked off his phone and scooped up his messenger bag from beside him in the booth before sliding out of his seat. Taking one last gulp of his coffee, he carelessly tossed his journal into his bag before hurrying to the front of the shop to pay his bill.

Just as he reached the counter, a woman carrying an overflowing box of what looked to be gardening tools came barreling into the coffee shop without any control of her feet or the box she held in front of her.

“Sorry, excuse me, if you’d just - oops - sorry, sir, are you okay?” With the box partly obstructing her view, the woman nearly slammed straight into an older man carrying a to-go cup, dodging him by only just a hair and knocking her elbow into the counter as a result. “Ow!”

Still in a hurry, Jughead tried to block out the woman’s incessant apologies and turned to the employee behind the counter. “Hi, I’m ready to pay, if that’s alright.”

“Sure, just one moment,” she smiled at Jughead, but then turned to the crazed woman with the box, her eyes going wide as she took in the scene that was unfolding before her.

“I actually don’t have a moment, I’m-” Jughead tried to protest, but the woman behind the counter was already heading over to inspect what was happening near the front door.

“Betty, what on earth are you carrying?”

“Hey, Polly, I’m just… Hold on a second,” the crazed woman, now known as Betty, dropped her box onto one end of the counter and quickly dusted her hands off. “Ah, that’s better.”

“Okay, start explaining,” Polly instructed, nodding to the box of gardening tools and raising a curious eyebrow. “What is all this?”

“My third graders are learning about rocks and minerals this week,” Betty explained. “So I’ve been going around the neighborhood looking for different kinds of stones and varieties of soil to-”

“Sorry,” Jughead interrupted, pulling on his messenger bag impatiently and flapping his check in the air. “I don’t mean to be that guy, but if I don’t get back to my office in seven and a half minutes, my boss has threatened to strap a rocket to my back and send me flying to some unknown universe so if I could just-”

“Yes, sorry,” Polly hurried back over the the cash register and took Jughead’s credit card, quickly ringing him up and tearing off a piece of paper from the machine next to her and handing it to him. “Here’s your receipt, enjoy the rest of your day!”

“Thank you,” Jughead nodded at Polly and turned to head out the door, but before pushing it open to brave the cold morning air, Jughead stopped suddenly and turned back to Betty. “Good luck with the rock thing by the way. There’s some good ones by the lake just off Kingston Drive, if you’re still looking. It’s a gold mine down there trust me!”

With that, Jughead left the coffee shop, leaving Betty to turn back to Polly with a surprised smile on her face.

“Well, that was unexpectedly kind of him. Most guys in suits like that aren’t usually so friendly,” Betty pointed out, thinking back to all the guys she knew in college who were crazed, wannabe business tycoons with a bad attitude.

“He comes in here every morning. Sometimes in the evening too if he’s trying to meet a deadline,” Polly informed her, wiping the counter down with a cloth and leaning forward on the surface with her elbows. “Yet I still have no idea what his name is.”

“He’s a writer?” Betty guessed, trying her best to conceal the interest that had seemed to pop up in her voice.

“Yeah, some kind of hotshot news editor by the looks of it,” Polly explained, pushing off the counter and bending down to fix an out-of-place pastry in the display case.

“Interesting,” Betty muttered, turning back to the door and looking out the window intently. “I wonder if - uh oh.”

An object on the floor in front of the welcome mat caught Betty’s attention, and she hurried over to investigate.

“What is it?” Polly asked, her brows furrowing together as she took in the old journal that her sister was gently holding in her hands.

“Looks like Cinder-editor left his notebook behind,” Betty concluded, holding up the journal for Polly to see.  

“Well, hurry, go track him down before he turns into a pumpkin!” Polly joked, gesturing to the door and ushering for her to leave.

Betty knew that there was no way he would still be around, but she also knew that she had to take a chance. Pushing through the front door, Betty hurried out onto the streets, searching both ways for any sign of the journal’s owner. Spotting the same old beanie that she remembered seeing the man wearing at the end of the sidewalk one street over, Betty moved quickly to catch up to him.

“Wait!” she called out to him, but he was already joining the crowd of people in front of him and crossing the street. “Wait, you forgot you’re-”

With all the chaos happening around her, Betty got swept up into a group of school kids heading to their bus stop and ran straight into a woman walking her poodle in the opposite direction.

“Watch where you’re going!” the woman snapped, glancing back at Betty to glare at her before heading into the apartment building behind them.  

“Ow, why does that keep happening to me?” Betty rubbed her shoulder, standing on her tiptoes to see if she could spot the beanie again, but it was nowhere to be found.

Glancing down at the journal in her hands, a thought crossed her mind that she knew was unethical, but kept popping back up to the forefront the longer she stared at its worn cover.

“Betty, don’t read it, that would be an invasion of privacy,” she muttered to herself, quickly shaking the thought from her mind and tucking the journal safely under her arm. “But then again, maybe he has his name written somewhere in the front cover. I mean, how else am I going to get this back to him if I don’t know his name?”

Betty slowly slipped the journal back into her hands, glancing behind her shoulder in case anyone passing her on the street could tell how much of a snoop she was being.

“Oh, what the heck,” she conceded, flipping open the book to check for a name. Written in thick letters were the words: Property of Forsythe Pendleton Jones III and scribbled underneath it in tinier, childlike handwriting was the name Jughead.

“Odd,” Betty mumbled, thinking about how strange the name Jughead sounded in her mind. Yet, there was a familiarity to it that made it seem ordinary somehow. Like it was the most common, natural-sounding name she had ever heard.

Having found the name she was hoping to find, Betty prepared her hands to close the journal and head back to her sister’s coffee shop. But before she could follow through, and even though she could never explain it, something stopped her. It was as if there was a pull in the universe causing her eyes to wander over to the next page and read the story that was scribbled carelessly onto the white paper.

“No way,” Betty breathed, letting the words sink in as she flipped to the next page. After reading several entries all about the same girl, Betty slammed the journal and sprinted back to the coffee shop.

“Polly!” she exclaimed as she threw open the door, dodging several customers as she made her way back to the counter.

“What?” Polly’s eyes went wide as she took in her sister, all wild eyes and heavy breathing. “Did you give that guy his journal back?”

“Not yet,” Betty admitted, her breath coming in heavy spurts as she tried to slow her heart rate. “But I was looking through it and-”

“You read it?” Polly gasped. “Elizabeth Cooper, you should be ashamed.”

“I know, I know, but listen to this,” Betty opened to a random page in the journal and started to read the man’s words that had made her heart lurch in her throat.

“’She wanted to shape young minds. To show them that there was a place for them in the world that was better than what they might have seen in the past. And while she was never quite sure of her ability to succeed, she was positive in her ability to teach them that they could.’”

“Okay, that’s beautiful and all, but I’m not really sure I’m getting your point,” Polly told her, tossing a rag over her shoulder and leaning against the counter.

“This entry, and every entry after that, they’re all describing this girl,” Betty explained, holding out the journal for her sister to see. “But the way he writes about her - it never seems like she’s someone that he knows. She’s just this person that exists in this journal but not in real life except-”

“Except?”

“Except I think that she does,” Betty concluded. “And I think that I’m her.”

“Betty, you realize you sound psychotic correct?” Polly threw the rag at her sister, who lunged forward to catch it at the exact wrong moment and let the piece of cloth fall to the floor.

“I know how it sounds, but do you remember that story I wrote for English class in the tenth grade?” Betty asked, bending down to scoop up the rag and set it on the counter. “The one that mom hated?”

“Yeah, it was that piece about the boy who’s father was never around because he was some sort of drug dealer or something. And then he gave the boy a present for his birthday that changed his life before he left town for good and never came back,” Polly recounted the story and looked up to raise her eyebrows at Betty as if to say, ‘so what?’ “Yeah, I remember. Why?”

“Read this,” Betty shoved the journal in Polly’s direction and pointed to the description on the back cover. Rolling her eyes, Polly quickly read about how the owner of the journal got that very book from his father on his sixteenth birthday and then never saw him again after that day.

“It has to be some sort of coincidence,” Polly concluded, shutting the journal and handing it back to Betty.

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Betty whispered, running her fingers along the etchings on the front cover. “I think that I was writing about this man - Jughead - and I think that he was writing about me.”

“That’s insane, Betty, you don’t even know each other,” Polly reminded her.

“I know that,” Betty sighed. “But I think that this is a sign - finding this journal, meeting him today - I think that I was meant to know him.”

“Okay, let’s say that’s true,” Polly cautiously gave in, folding her arms over her chest as she narrowed her eyes at Betty. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to find him,” Betty declared, grabbing her purse from the stool she had left it on and shoved the journal safely inside. “And then he’s going to explain to me how he’s been writing about me for eight years when I only just met him this morning.”

Before her sister could protest, Betty headed out the door and made her way to the only newsroom in town, determined to find the man who owned the journal. The man who, she knew in her heart, she was meant to know. And the man who was about to change her entire world.

[jacewilliams1]

An airplane unlike any I’ve ever seen before – flying the AN-2

It takes 90 minutes, with two changes of train, to travel by rail from Munich westward through the low, rolling foothills of the Bavarian Alps to Bad Wörishofen. For a century and a half, tourists have trekked to this tidy and colorful town of 16,000 for its thermal baths and naturopathic hydrotherapy treatments.

But I was not going there for hydrotherapy. Alone in a second-class coach compartment on the train, I pulled a piece of paper out of my pocket to re-read my reservation for a flight that afternoon in a fascinating airplane.

When planning this Bavarian vacation, I wanted to include some flying, perhaps an hour of dual with an instructor at a local flying club. Searching online, I came across the website of a company called Classic Wings Bavaria, offering scenic flights in a 1957 Soviet-built Antonov An-2 biplane. Here was the unique flying opportunity I was looking for, even if it did not involve actual stick time.

The An-2 may be a single engine biplane, but it’s huge.

Aside from fuzzy Cold War-era photos, I had never seen an An-2 before. More than 18,000 of them were built in the Soviet Union, in Poland, and in China, and many remain in service, mostly in former Eastern Bloc countries. About two dozen An-2s are registered in the US, but the FAA has not seen fit to certify them, so they are relegated to the “Experimental-Exhibition” category here.

Classic Wings Bavaria’s website offered two routes, one over the pastoral Fünfseenland (Five Lakes region) south of Munich, the other further south into the Alps over the famous Neuschwanstein castle. The former covered some of my favorite areas of Germany, and better suited my schedule, so I picked the date and signed up, several months in advance.

The last leg of the rail journey is a quick 5 km from the connection at Türkheim south to the end of the line at Bad Wörishofen. From the small railway station in the center of town, I backtracked on foot about a kilometer and a half, then turned east a short distance to the airfield.

The town itself is quiet, but on this sunny August Sunday, Flugplatz Bad Wörishofen (EDNH) was alive with a festive, airshow-like vibe. Microlight aircraft buzzed this way and that in the air and on the ground. Over here skydivers gathered to await their turn in the Cessna Caravan jump plane, and over there a student and instructor tried to start a recalcitrant Reims-Cessna F172. A trim MBB Bo.209 taxied by, its vertical tail decorated in the blue-and-white lozengy emblematic of Bavaria. A mirror-polished Cessna 195 landed on the 2650 ft. x 100 ft. grass runway, followed by a Japanese-built Fuji Aero-Subaru, and a Klemm Kl.35D trainer, one of only eleven survivors of that classic pre-war type. Overhead a yellow Super Cub towed a banner, “Willst du mich heiraten [Will you marry me]?” There was even a German-language version of the old “weather forecasting stone” gag by the fence. The open-air café bustled with diners enjoying the show, and nearby, passengers queued for the next trip in the Antonov.

A good aviation joke, no matter what the language is.

But “Tante Anna” (Auntie Anna), as the An-2 is affectionately known, is nowhere to be seen. Presently, however, a small biplane appeared on short final to runway 26. No, look again: it was a large biplane, a very large biplane, on a long straight-in, and it just kept getting larger as it approached. Finally it touched down on the grass at what seemed a slow walk in the 15-knot breeze, and waddled toward the fuel pump, dwarfing every other aircraft on the field.

The bright blue four-blade propeller spun to a stop, and the door on the airplane’s left flank opened. Out stepped sandy-haired Andreas Wild, pilot and keeper of this prodigious machine. He assisted his ten passengers out onto the turf, then enlisted their help to push the beast to the proper spot for fueling.

Andreas and his ground crew, consisting of his wife, Martina, and son, Robin, began preparing the An-2 for her next flight. Martina and Robin scampered up the kick-in steps in the fuselage side, to the top of the upper wing.  There Martina pumped fuel into the tanks, while young Robin surveyed the scene from his perch atop the flight deck.

Tante Anna has been part of the Wild household since 2004. Prior to that, she had earned her keep flying safari tours in Namibia, in southwestern Africa. Andreas flew the An-2 home from Windhoek, Namibia, via Victoria Falls, Mt. Kilimanjaro, Egypt, Crete and the Balkans—60 flying hours, at a true airspeed of under 100 knots. Along the way he faced headwinds, violent equatorial weather, political unrest, avgas unavailability, exorbitant landing fees, and inscrutable local regulations. On arrival in Bavaria at Oberpfaffenhofen, Tante Anna and Andreas were surrounded by cheering family, friends, the press and Bavarian television.

The airplane is old, but it is loved and in great shape.

Andreas is passionate about all manner of flying, but especially the Antonov. With justifiable pride he showed off features of the airplane—the 1,000 hp nine-cylinder Shvetsov ASh-62 engine (Russian-built derivative of a Wright R-1820); the full-span flaps on the lower wings and ailerons on the upper wings that droop with the flaps; and the leading-edge slats on the upper wings that automatically deploy on takeoff and just before landing. The airplane is stout, well-suited for short, unimproved runways, inhospitable environments and primitive maintenance. She is rough-hewn, but immaculate inside and out. Obviously, Tante Anna is loved.

There is a lot to love—almost 60 feet between the tips of the upper wings, 42 feet long, and almost 14 feet to the top of the tail. Wing area is 770 square feet, four and a half times that of a Cessna 172.

She wears the 1950s-era livery of the defunct East German state airline, Deutsche Lufthansa, which operated An-2s from 1957 to 1962. The faux East German registration mark “DM-SKK” is mere decoration; the actual Federal German registration is in small letters in the shadow of the horizontal stabilizer.

The instrument panel is a smorgasbord of Russian, German, and English labels and markings. Some instruments are in metric units, others Imperial. And characteristic of Russian transports right up to the giant An-225, the An-2 sports two small electric fans mounted on the windshield frame next to the sun visors.

Nine paying passengers took their places in the three rows of plain brown leather chairs in the main cabin, plus one more passenger in the co-pilot seat. The engine started quickly, and Tante Anna trundled to the runway. Regardless of wind, the larger airplanes on the field (the An-2 and the Caravan) are required to take off to the east and land to the west for noise abatement, so our takeoff would be downwind. Despite the full cabin load, grass surface and the 15-knot wind on the tail, the airplane broke ground just as we passed the yellow “1/2” marker beside the runway.

The cockpit of the An-2 is a smorgasbord of Russian, German, and English labels.

The large picture windows in the main cabin provided a panoramic view of the muscles and sinews of flight—wings, struts, flying wires, ailerons, flaps, and slats—and some of the scenic countryside below. It was odd to look outside from such a large cabin and see biplane wings. The noise level was not at all disagreeable.

Up front, the left-hand sliding cockpit window was open, and Andreas let the stable, ponderous An-2 have her head in cruise. The instrument panel basked in an indigo glow from the dark blue tint of the upper cockpit windows.

At 4,200 ft. MSL, or 680 meters AGL, depending on which altimeter is consulted, we cruised over the town of Diessen, on the west shore of the Ammersee. The lake’s blue water was speckled with dozens of sailboats. Across the lake is Andreas’ home town of Herrsching, and on the forested hill above it is the Andechs monastery, where Benedictine monks have been brewing great beer since the 15th century.

Andreas coaxed Tante Anna into a 30-degree left bank over Herrsching to reverse course back to Bad Wörishofen. All too soon the flaps and ailerons were down, the upper-wing slats popped out, and the wheels settled onto the grass of EDNH. There were odd clicking and hissing sounds during the rollout, from the An-2’s pneumatic brake system.

A unique wing view!

Once the passengers were offloaded from the last flight of the day, Andreas and his family/ground crew got Tante Anna ready for bed. Andreas removed spark plugs and drained oil from the engine’s bottom cylinders. The airplane was tied down, and huge, blue padded covers were spread over the cockpit windows, cowl, and tires. Wind complicated the process, but with Martina and Robin on top of the airplane, and Andreas below, it was all efficiently choreographed. The rubber chicken which serves as a pitot cover was in place, and the job was done.

The Wilds graciously drove me back to Herrsching, where we joined their friends and shared beer and spare ribs at a lakeside community festival. Later they delivered me to Herrsching’s S-Bahn platform where I caught the S8 commuter train for the 45-minute ride back to Munich.

It had been a full day—seeing gorgeous scenery from the ground and from the air; a taste of general aviation in a foreign country; a flight in an airplane unlike any I’ve ever seen before; and meeting new friends. A very good day indeed.

Watch a video of the day here

The post An airplane unlike any I’ve ever seen before – flying the AN-2 appeared first on Air Facts Journal.

from Engineering Blog https://airfactsjournal.com/2020/04/an-airplane-unlike-any-ive-ever-seen-before-flying-the-an-2/